It Must Be Thursday
by Anaph
Summary: In which demons, wishes, and grape slushies unite to form a singing, dancing Broadway extravaganza! Or you know, Rachel Berry decides whether or not to sell her soul.
1. Chapter 1: Escaping Words

**It Must Be Thursday  
**

_"This __must be Thursday__," said Arthur to himself, sinking low over his beer. "I never could get the hang of Thursdays."_

-Douglas Adams, "The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy"

**Story Summary**: In which demons, wishes, and grape slushies unite to form a singing, dancing Broadway extravaganza! Or you know, Rachel Berry decides whether or not to sell her soul.

**Foreword**: I love "what ifs". Generally, when I read or watch something the first question I ask myself is, "Oo! That was interesting but what if _this_ happened instead?" Glee in particular tends to really make me think about roads not taken. This story has been taking shape for quite awhile as something taking place a little earlier in the season, but then Jesse happened and well, what was originally a straight-up "What if?" became _this. _This goes alternate reality some time during the Power of Madonna episode or shortly thereafter, but this is meant to stick pretty close to the canon universe. Just with minions of hell. Which, really, isn't exactly a canonical stretch.

**Pairings**: Rachel/Puck, but also Rachel/Unconventional!Relationship. If surprise unconventional ships aren't your thing, probably best to sail on.

**Warnings**: Rated M for language, violence and suggestive sexy fun-times.

**Disclaimer**: Glee, Douglas Adams, Sweeney Todd and Jewish proverbs do not belong to me, alas.

**Side Tidbit**: Jesse (or Yishai, pardon my attempt at the Hebrew original) means "God exists" or "God's gift". Food for thought for later on ;)

**Chapter Summary**: Today must be the Very Special Sweeps Episode of Thursdays.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Escaping Words**

_A bird that you set free may be caught again but a word that escapes your lips will not return._

– Jewish Proverb

_**Thursday the First**_

It isn't –entirely- a surprise when Rachel discovers that her very recent ex-boyfriend is a _literal _minion of hell. Well, you know, except for the fact that she doesn't actually believe in hell. Hell, however, isn't exactly what is going through her mind as a very naked Jesse leans forward, his dark wings flexing as he flashes a distinctly predatory smile.

"So Rach, what do you think?"

What Rachel thinks is that when Rachel mused about selling her soul for Broadway, she never thought that it was _actually an option_.

xXx

Most people wake up and look forward to the mundane things of the day- hearing the latest gossip, chatting with friends, going shopping for shoes or transmission fluid _while_ chatting with friends. Rachel Berry has never had this kind of option. Unfortunately, any gossip she hears is likely to be _about_ her and as for the rest, well, that would involve having friends, wouldn't it? She hasn't let this stop her from anticipating her day, even if the day she envisions is more the product of a rich fantasy life, rather than any likely reality. In hindsight, her tendency to dwell on dreams of walking over the worshipping bodies of her tormentors on her way to class might have been partially responsible for her current situation.

But honestly?

Rachel knows that if she really wants to figure out how this started, all she has to do is look at it as the natural ending to her Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

In other words- Thursday.

But as bad as most Rachel Berry Thursdays are, they are normally limited to one horrible life-changing revelation per day. In fact, she is as regular as an afterschool special with the, "What awful thing will I learn today?" In that case, today must be the Very Special Sweeps Episode of Thursdays.

xXx

Thursday doesn't start off horribly.

A fact that Rachel has never shared with her are-they/aren't-they sort-of friends in Glee is that the way she survives all of the things that happen to her in her average day is by pretending that the moment she walks out her door she is starring in a special guerilla theatre version of whatever musical first crosses her mind. If it's all a show then none of it is actually real, right? And she _loves_ Sweeney Todd.

On second thought, maybe that should have been her first clue.

There is actually a significant lull before the proverbial storm. Slushies have become rather sporadic since Noa-_Puck's_ brief time dating her and she arrives early as usual to run through a few songs before class. Jesse normally joins her, but as he loudly announced his commitment to a morning fundraiser in support of the bicycle-less at lunch yesterday, she can actually make mistakes without feeling self-conscious. She's humming "Green Finch and Linnet Bird" to herself when the Original Gleeks walk, amble and roll into the choir room. It's sad that, despite the ultimatum they gave her not so long ago, her first thought is that they are being friendly.

"We know, you know."

Kurt, as the self-appointed spokesperson, is staring at his nails, but there's an edge of gleeful malice in his voice that makes Rachel realize that this isn't going to be about embracing gay dolphins.

"You kept dating Vocal Adrenaline, despite what we told you and that extremely touching scene at rehearsal."

He looks up, and Rachel is surprised to see something that might have been guilt, before it almost instantly vanishes. "But you know what? We don't need to do anything. You can endanger Glee all you want, because we all know exactly what's going to happen. Jesse St. James is going to break you apart, and when he quits just before Regionals, _we're_ who Mr. Schue is going to turn to to fix it. You think Mr. Schue will ever trust you again? So you? You're going to be left with _nothing_ and that's far worse than anything we could ever threaten you with."

Rachel detachedly glances around the circle. Tina looks a little embarrassed, and Mercedes has an odd combination of stubbornness and a tiny bit of guilt and Artie just looks imperturbable. None of them are saying anything.

They obviously agree with Kurt.

Rachel quietly picks up her sheet music and walks out past them without saying a word.

What is there to say really?

They might think that she's stupid and self-centered and selfish, but she _knows_ that Jesse is probably playing her. She thinks that it might be worth it just to have someone to talk to.

She has been really, really trying not to think about that.

xXx

Rachel gets through her morning classes in a daze and can't bring herself to go to the cafeteria by the time they're over. Instead, she eats lunch by herself in the Glee room and makes her way, early of course, to her locker to pick up the books for her next classes. Unfortunately there is a bit of a roadblock between her and her locker. Finn's talking to Mike and she's trying to figure out a way to get by him without actually having him see her when she hears her name.

"-at least _Rachel _thought we were dating. I was all just there, man, and then there were, like, those crazy calendars and-"

Mike sort of frowns at him. "Why are you trying to get back together then?"

Suddenly not caring if they see her, Rachel puts on a burst of speed and powerwalks until she is at least half a hallway away. She tries very, very hard not to think about what she just heard and this blatant rewriting of her personal history.

The irony is that _Finn _was the one who asked her out in the first place. Of course, she should perhaps have realized that he was still deeply hurt over what had happened and had an excellent track record of taking her for granted anyways... But she had wanted him so badly and tried so hard. The "crazy calendars" only came out after he failed to make an appearance for the fifth time. And what does it say about her that it still took Finn to break up with her to find his inner "rock star" before the relationship ended?

Does she really hate herself that badly?

The thought shakes her so much that she ducks into the girls' washroom before she starts to hyperventilate. As she sits in the stall, her head between her knees, she hears the door open and attempts to keep her breathing quiet. The last thing she wants to do is give anyone anymore fodder for "Crazy Rachel". Especially once she hears them speak.

"If sex isn't dating, does that mean that dating isn't sex? Does that mean I can't have sex with my boyfriend?"

Santana gives her distinctive snort. "Considering he's seven, that's probably a good idea, Britt."

Rachel can practically hear the hamsters in Brittany's head slowly making their way towards the wheel that powers her thinking.

"Does that mean you had sex with Finn? 'Cause you're not _really_ dating him?"

"You're pretty sharp, babe. He was _awful_ though- I'm on a strictly non-virgin diet from now on."

"Ooo! _I'm _not a virgin!"

"Let's go test that out."

Finn isn't....

Finn lied.

Rachel...

She can't think about this. She _can't._ But she's honestly not sure how her life can get any worse.

Of course that is before she walks past the classroom where Puck and Quinn are yelling at one another and she hears her name. Seriously- she knows the fate of eavesdroppers, but at this point she really doesn't see how anything they could have to say could hurt her any further than she is already. Quinn seems to have demanded something because she's glowering at Puck and he looks tired and a little frustrated.

"Fuck Quinn, you _know _Berry makes me want to light myself on fire." He lets out a sigh and runs his hand over his head. "I only dated her because my Mom said I was a fucking Nazi for not dating Jewish girls."

Oh.

That makes sense.

Rachel stumbles away, hopefully before they can see her. Here she stupidly thought that her life was already as horrible as it could get. She didn't realize G-d or the universe would take that as a _challenge_.

Her only consolation in all this is that she has yet to see Jesse and won't see him until Glee. She honestly doesn't think she can pretend to be all over yet another boy who –probably- doesn't want her.

xXx

How Rachel gets through the rest of her classes is one of the Universe's Great Mysteries, punctuated only by someone throwing a slushie on her just before Glee. It's grape, so at least it tastes good, but she's pretty sure that the ice wasn't fully ground up and she's going to have a bruise that is going to need some concealer pretty quickly.

It doesn't take all that long to change, wash and apply makeup (she's something of an expert), but it's far closer to the start of practice than she would like when she exits-

And sees Mr. Schue walking in the opposite direction of rehearsal.

She doesn't know what possesses her. Maybe it's how awful her day has already been. Maybe it's that she's slightly psychic. Maybe it's that his hair personally offends her.

She follows him.

Out the door.

Into the parking lot.

Right into the arms of Shelby Corcoran.

They're not even attempting to hide it.

And yeah, maybe nobody but the Gleeks would know or care who she is and they're all in practice, but Rachel thinks about everything they've said to her about Jesse and the bile rises in her throat. The two directors make out for a little while and Rachel knows that they're both late now, but she can't bring herself to leave her hiding place. It's a little bit like watching two pieces of flypaper mate. Repulsive and... kind of sticky.

She wonders if she should be taking notes.

Mr. Schue finishes with some great flourish and saunters back towards the school. Rachel is about to follow when she sees Jesse appear out of _nowhere_ and head towards Shelby.

Rachel knows.

She _knows_.

But still, the part of her that loves how he treats her, how they sing together, how they talk as equals and friends, refuses to believe. Even as they start talking in furtive whispers with lots of reverse jazz-hands.

Shelby was a really important person in his life, instrumental in the scholarship to UCLA in Los Angeles.

He could just be saying hello to his former coach.

"Rachel is nearly totally under my control. She'll do what we want."

Or maybe not.

She's not sure why Jesse chose that moment to start talking loudly, but figures that it's just a part of her Extra Special Sweeps Thursday of Doom.

Now she just has to die young.

Or, you know, let her feet take her over there without her conscious control and with an unfamiliar feeling of rage.

"I'm afraid that won't be happening."

They're both kind of gaping at her.

"Jesse- consider this so long, farewell. I hope that your stereo system catches on fire and burns you bald."

She doesn't bother watching Jesse frantically clutching at his hair as she sweeps back towards the school with more confidence than she really feels.

She can't do this anymore.

Something has to change.

xXx

Rachel's mind is utterly, curiously blank as she slowly makes her way towards practice.

She is positively shocked when she stumbles into Glee what must be only five or so minutes behind when Mr. Schue must have arrived, since he's just started organizing music. Did it really only take that long?

The revelation is building within her and she realizes that she absolutely _cannot do this_.

Trying very hard not to attract attention, she carefully walks up to Mr. Schue and addresses him as quietly as possible.

"I'm very sorry, but I'm afraid that I can't participate today. I'm not feeling well- I need to go home."

Mr. Schue gets the "cool teacher face of patronizing disapproval" and when he speaks, it's _not _the near-whisper that Rachel used.

"Rachel- it's incredibly disrespectful to your peers and to New Directions to show up late and then avoid your responsibilities. It's a particularly terrible lack of teamwork and shows a high level of arrogance. I'm afraid that if you leave, the female lead on the new song for Regionals will go to Tina."

Rachel closes her eyes. Since her early indiscretions, she is always early, always fully participating, always contributing a hundred times what anyone else does, if only because Glee means a hundred times as much to her as to anyone else. It occurs to her as it has never occurred to her before that, yes, they hate her _that much_. It takes literally one misstep for them to scent blood and go after her, to make her a life lesson or punish her in some inexplicably cruel way. And how must Tina feel? To only get solos when Mr. Schue is trying to teach Rachel a lesson?

She tries not to look at any of them when she opens her eyes. She can't stay there a moment longer.

"I've got to go."

As she lifts her head, Mr. Schue briefly catches her eyes and –something- in his expression shifts. Rachel doesn't want to hear some insincere expression of concern ('We are all minorities'? What kind of privileged able-bodied white man _says_ that kind of stuff and doesn't realize he's being a big jerk?) Unfortunately, she's not that lucky. Mr. Schue's mouth is opening even as she turns towards the door.

Of course, she's glad that she's facing away when she hears what he actually asks.

"Do you know where Jesse is?"

Of course.

_Concern _is never for her.

"I don't know where he is."

It's the absolute truth.

In fact, Jesse could be in hell for all she cares.

Which is actually pretty ironic considering what happens next.

xXx

She makes it home in one piece.

That was actually up in the air for a few minutes when her fully committed rendition of "The Worst Pies in London" nearly caused her to rear-end Rabbi Greenburg on a sustained A. And no it wasn't because she was picturing most of the people of her acquaintance _in_ the pies.

Really.

_Anyways_.

So she makes it home. The Dads are off somewhere for some convention which seems to be part of a perpetual series of conventions or cross-country law suits as would explain the fact that she suspects that most of the people she knows think that the "Gay Dads" are just a figment of her imagination, suitable for litigation purposes.

As awful as her day has been and as much as she wants to just curl up in her room and lick her wounds (maybe record a MySpace Evanescence tribute?) she is totally and completely unprepared for what greets her when she opens her bedroom.

"You really aren't taking the most efficient route from McKinley to your house. I could plot it out for you on a map if you'd like?"

And Rachel knows that the universe has made its point as she stares at the naked, gold-eyed, _black-winged_ Jesse sitting on the corner of her desk.

Then he sneezes and a little burst of flame and something that smells like sulfur appears.

"Oh hell."

Jesse smirks.

"Precisely."

xXx

Rachel is fairly sure that none of the sites that she has perused in her extensive search for dating (and friend and sort of acquaintance) etiquette have ever had any suggestions about "What to do if your ex-boyfriend has turned into a naked demon and is sitting on your desk."

She is sure that merely by virtue of _not fainting_ she is way up there on the etiquette scale. Of course, being Rachel Berry, that doesn't last long. Without her brain really connecting, Rachel manages to blurt out what has to be the single most stupid comment to ever leave her mouth (And really? There's an awful lot of competition).

"But you sing concerts for the homeless!"

Jesse gives her a condescending smirk and Rachel blinks.

"I guess that _is _pretty evil."

Then, because today Rachel is determined to be Queen Stupid of the Stupidy McStupids, she manages to blurt out something else completely... stupid.

"So this wasn't about Glee then?"

Surprisingly, Jesse's voice is almost gentle.

"Not at all. All about you personally. Which, you should feel quite flattered. It is not every potential soul that we take such a personal interest in."

"My... soul?"

Jesse snaps into a sudden business-like mode.

"It's a straight-up business transaction, much like Sally Bowles and Max in Cabaret. You get three introductory desires fulfilled- once the third one is stated, the contract is considered fully formed. You then get a period of ten years where I, as your personal contact, will help you achieve those desires and others, on a per negotiation basis. After that, we get your soul."

Rachel isn't sure where to start. The fact that she gets two free wishes? That only the third is binding? (She is sure that it can't be quite that simple) But there is one question she has based on her sort of study of other religious theories.

"Don't I have to die for you to take my soul?"

Jesse actually starts shifting and not meeting her eyes. "Er... Well about that... You kind of need to make those wishes within the next six months if we are to establish a ten year contract."

Rachel can do math.

Rachel can do math _very well_.

This changes everything.

"I'm going to die in a little over ten years from now."

Jesse is almost panicked.

"You really, really weren't supposed to know that. Can we sing about sex and forget I said that?"

Rachel doesn't tell him that that little slip makes his case far better than anything else he could possibly come up with. She's not stupid though- he might just be an excellent actor. Fortunately, strangely enough, she actually has the tools to deal with this situation.

xXx

Rachel is proud of her cultural, and potentially biological, Jewish heritage. But Daddy has a heritage as well and Rachel is very thorough in learning her heritages. And some of the more... obscure combinations of Christianity and Vaudun have a _lot _to say about what to do with demons. She can only hope that they aren't just the interesting historical beliefs that she always thought they were.

"How do I know I can believe you? I mean, I know you want my soul, but how do I know that I am actually going to die so soon?"

Jesse actually looks offended. "You don't trust my handsome, yet approachable, demeanor?"

Rachel knows this. She knows what you are supposed to do in this situation.

"Maybe... If you tell me your True Name."

There's no fun in Jesse's eyes.

"How does a good little girl know about that?"

Rachel tries to look cool, in control, hiding her shaking hands behind her back. "Probably for the same reasons that you want my soul in the first place."

She's guessing of course. If she's wrong...

He's still silent.

He can probably kill her.

Maybe she won't have those ten years.

"Yishai," he hisses.

For the first time in what feels like forever, Rachel has actually _won._

"Yishai!"

He freezes. She can see the tremors running up and down his arms, the sweat beading on his brow. She could abuse this.

But she has more important things to do.

"Swear on your true name. Swear that you are telling me the truth. Swear that I have six months or less over ten years to live."

The voice that emerges sounds nothing like the Jesse she knows. It's like a thousand voices in one, his eyes becoming all-white. "By the word of Yishai, I swear that Rachel Barbra Berry has six months or less over ten years to live."

There's something that clicks when he says it, some kind of binding feeling that falls into place.

He has her pinned to the wall before she can even blink.

"You get to do that _once_. Don't even think of trying it again."

He backs off and Rachel tries to keep from collapsing on the floor by gracefully landing on the bed. Well, at least she has something that nobody else on earth has- a guaranteed ten years. Maybe she would never have considered this before, but that was when she had decades to rise above the degradations of her youth. She doesn't have that time and, honestly, whatever the consequences for the first two wishes are, they aren't her soul. And she can kind of live with most of the other potential effects. Particularly in exchange for what she wants.

So as a very naked Jesse crawls towards her and asks her what she thinks...

What does she think?

"About the bargain of course. I have all sorts of delightful ways that I can convince you that it would be a... _beneficial_ arrangement-"

She thinks that she needs to cut off whatever Jesse is about to start smarming on about.

"I've got my first two wishes," Rachel interrupts.

Jesse's mouth drops a little, before snapping firmly closed. "That... was faster than I anticipated. Are you sure you don't want to hear my alphabetical list of show-stopping seduction numbers?"

"I'm sure it's a lovely list. And very... seduction-y. But I'm pretty much ready. All I ask is that you don't say anything until I am completely finished both of my desires."

Mainly because she doesn't think that she'll have the courage to go through with this otherwise.

And she has to.

Jesse nods, leaning back against her wall, his wings folding impossibly behind him.

Rachel isn't sure why he is so surprised. If they have been as intent on capturing her soul as he says, then surely he must be aware that someone like her does nothing _but_ think about what she would wish for if she would ever get the chance. In between practice and MySpace videos, of course. It's not just idle fantasy either- she's read "The Monkey's Paw" and is well aware of the importance of wording when making these kinds of wishes. She has color-coded lists buried at the bottom of her desk of the exact wording for fortune that would not involve her dead zombie fathers returning to knock on her door. Of course all of those lists are now shot completely to hell, but she's always been good at improvisation.

And really?

It's just minor revisions, to smooth her path for what will be ten rather than sixty years of triumph. Because she's had a revelation today, even before Demon Jesse the Floopy-Haired Genie- her priorities have to shift. If she wants to get where she wants to go, she can't play around anymore.

"I want to not care about McKinley."

Jesse has a rather unpromising gleam in his eyes, so Rachel interjects hastily. "And no- that doesn't mean not caring at all or not being able to love or turning into a zombie or an alien parasite host when I'm in McKinley. I want to not be concerned with what people think of me, what people say about me, what people do to me, how I'm treated, and what I do in my various school activities. Other than my academics of course! I want to not have Glee as any kind of priority and just participate without feeling any kind of desire to do anything more. Most importantly, I want-"

She takes a deep breath.

"I want to stop wanting them to like me. I want to stop wanting to prove myself to them both romantically and in friendship, only to be pushed away over and over again."

She can tell Jesse is about to interject, obviously wondering why she is wasting her first wish on something like this. She can't afford to let him speak, because she won't be able to do this. "It might seem frivolous and quite foolish to someone of your experience. But I only have ten years, Jesse. This distraction is preventing me from taking the measures I will need to succeed before my time runs out. I can't afford to be constantly an emotional wreck if I am to take Broadway by storm before... Well before."

This seems to appease Jesse for now and Rachel soldiers on.

"The second thing I want is... I want you to pretend to be my friend."

Jesse's brow wrinkles and Rachel interrupts before he can open his mouth.

She's seen Aladdin, alright? She's not entirely sure if genies and evil demonic choir boys follow the same wish rules, but who would know better than the ultimate Corporation of Evil?

"Not loving me. Not having sexual relations with me. You don't even have to _like_ me. It's just... I've only got ten years to get this done. I had originally planned to make my triumphant debut amidst a circle of fawning peers in my mid-twenties, but that's not really an option anymore. I need someone who I can talk to, who can talk to me, who can serve as an honest sounding board while at least pretending to have my best interests at heart. And-"

She takes a big gulp, forcing the words past the burning in her eyes and the lump in her throat. "I- I want to know what it's like. Just... what it's like."

Everything is kind of burning now and she really, really hopes he isn't going to make her explain any further. She doesn't think she can fall any farther without never getting up again. When she is finally able to focus her eyes, Jesse's expression is curiously blank.

"Done."

And Rachel discovers that hell can't be any worse than the way she feels right now.

xXx

Any and all comments welcomed and appreciated!

_Updated April 29, 2010_


	2. Chapter 2: A Bought Friend

**Author's Notes**: A huge thank-you to everyone who took the time to comment, or put this on alert and favourite lists. I was very nervous about posting this, but you've all convinced me to keep posting my musical plan for world dominatio- er... 'story'. This is also something I'm going to put right up front to avoid confusion- this story is entirely from Rachel's perspective and Rachel is an unreliable narrator. Her view of people, situations and the world _may not be right_, but there will always be enough clues in the background to figure out what's going on if you want to know. Now that I've thoroughly frightened you- on with the show!

**Warnings**: Rated M for language, violence and suggestive sexy fun-times.

**Disclaimer**: Glee, Damn Yankees ('Little Brains, A Little Talent', 'Two Lost Souls' 'Whatever Lola Wants'), the Cure, Pinky and the Brain (yes that is a reference in there), and Jewish proverbs do not belong to me, alas.

**Quick Definition**: "Twirlies" is theatre slang for dancers or chorus members.

**Chapter Summary**: Rachel tries to figure out when her life started to resemble one of the less insightful episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

* * *

**Chapter 2: A Bought Friend**

_A friend you have to buy; enemies you get for nothing._

- Jewish Proverb

_**Not-Thursday**_

It's one a.m. when Rachel rolls over to see the looming demonic figure, glowing eyes backlit by the full moon.

"Mmmrphrgl?"

"I call left side!"

"...Whaaa?"

"We're going to be bed buddies!"

Slowly emerging from the deep haze in her mind, Rachel tries to figure out when her life started to resemble one of the less insightful episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

xXx

After Rachel had made her wishes, Jesse had disappeared –literally- mumbling something about having business to finish up. Rachel is glad that she had read so thoroughly on her background, because otherwise she wouldn't have known that having demon requests granted would _hurt_. And not just her self-respect. She had sat on her bed, wrapped in blankets, rocking back and forth as waves of pain washed over her. She had almost been willing to use her third wish just to...

She had wanted so badly to have someone to hold her.

Eventually, she had closed her eyes and used that fertile imagination to imagine someone hugging her, telling her that it was going to be all right.

It wasn't.

But strangely, amidst the pain, Rachel reached a level of peace that she would have previously thought impossible. Rachel had never met a role she didn't commit to with everything she was. For better or for worse, this was what she had chosen and she was hardly going to give up now that she had changed up the choice of ballads. She _was _strong. She was going to survive and better than that, she was going to _win_. Unfortunately, just as she had cheered herself up, a particularly painful burst of pain had nearly knocked her out and she had crawled under the covers where she had promptly passed out.

Waking up to a naked demon-Jesse trying to crawl into bed is not doing much for her new-found resolution.

"Y'r naky- _naked_!"

She realizes that in the distress she was in earlier it hadn't really occurred to her that she had been spending her time with her _naked_ ex-boyfriend.

Oh Barbra.

He sat on her desk.

_He sat on her desk naked._

Rachel develops a sudden, passionate sympathy for Miss Pillsbury.

Then, Rachel suddenly has more important concerns, because he's jiggling. Over top of her. _He's very jiggly. _Dear Judy, how would that have even _fit_? _**Why is he so jiggly?**_

Jesse seems to notice that she is doing a marvelous impression of a bicycle pump, because he mercifully freezes and stops jiggling.

"Would singing 'Let's Go to Bed' make the sleeping situation less intimidating?"

"Maybe explaining why the Jackson you are _crawling into my bed_ might help!"

"Have you had a friend before?"

"... No."

"Well, this is what friends do!"

Rachel would be more convinced if he weren't sprouting little horns as he spoke.

Wait...

Little horns?

"You have horns!"

Jesse turns pale and winces. Rachel can barely hear his low mutter, "If I don't do something soon..."

Suddenly Jesse drops the mocking, teasing confidence and the light catches him just so that she sees the deep shadows underneath his eyes.

"Honestly Rach, I've had to change form one and a half times today. It's always exhausting and it hurts like... but I also had to get those wishes underway and really I should be unconscious by now. I can't go back to where I was before and I really... I just need to sleep."

"Please."

Wordlessly, Rachel lifts the corner of her covers and shuffles over as Jesse collapses onto the bed. It only occurs to her to wonder as she is on the verge of sleep why, with an entirely empty house, Jesse has to rest in _her_ bed, before that thought and everything else is lost to oblivion.

xXx

When Rachel wakes up she prepares to face the world, her protein shake and her elliptical, not necessarily in that order. Unfortunately that would mean figuring out why she can't get off her bed.

There's something heavy wrapped around her waist, which she bats against ineffectually before realizing it only gets tighter each time she pokes at it. Giving up for the moment, she sleepily stretches, brushing against a solid lump behind her. Solid lump? Oh... right... Jesse. And there was something about horns too, but weren't they smaller and on his head? And was there only one of them?

She mumbles, still half-asleep, "Did your horn grow?"

The rough voice, full of amusement, is _right in her ear. _"You could say that."

Later, Rachel will be very impressed with herself.

She's never hit a high E before without extensive warm-up.

At the moment though, her amazing vocal range isn't exactly her first concern.

"You... You're still naked! And in my bed! And naked! And horn-y! And naked! And _evil_!"

"And naked?"

When she turns to him with a glare of Ultimate Death, he mumbles, "I thought maybe we were starting a call-response."

"Fix. It. Now."

Jesse won't meet her eyes. Rachel remembers the _last_ time he did that and gets a disturbing feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Er... Well about that... 'M-not-allowed-to-wear-clothes-in-this-form."

Once Rachel has translated Oddly Embarrassed Jesse to English she blinks. Twice. "_Why _aren't you allowed to wear clothes?"

Jesse is now staring firmly at something Very Fascinating on her bedcover. "It feels like my skin is peeling if I try... I _can't,_ Rach."

"_Why_?"

She can hardly hear him when he replies. "'Cause of what I'm supposed to use this form for."

"Oh."

Rachel finally gets it.

"You were supposed to seduce me."

Jesse's grin is pale, but definitely self-mocking in a way she never suspected that he could be. "Yeah. Well. We can both see how well _that_ worked. Obviously that's not going to happen now though."

Oh.

Of course not. Why would he find _her _attractive?

This of course brings up all of the horrible things that happened yesterday (Rachel thinks it's sad that the worst hurt was that even _Puck_ couldn't find her sexually attractive enough to motivate him to date her). Then there was the disaster that was Glee... She supposes that after her exit, Tina will be getting the Regionals' solo, not that Rachel cares.

Not that Rachel cares.

She _doesn't care._

With a shriek of delight, Rachel bounces right off the bed, landing gracefully in full dancer stance. She grabs Jesse about the waist, barely noticing his look of stunned surprise as she pulls back.

"I don't care! _I don't care!_"

She's laughing and jumping and grabs Jesse's hands to spin him around. "Ask me! Ask me anything!"

Realizing, by the expression on Jesse's face that he might, in fact, _have no idea what she is talking about, _Rachel attempts to clarify.

"If Mercedes says I shouldn't sing 'My Prerogative' because there's enough crazy in Britney already? I don't care!"

Jesse gets a slow, wide smile and his eyes are actually _twinkling_.

"Artie says you're annoying and 'accidentally' runs over your feet during choreography!"

"I don't care!"

"Tina gets to sing all your solos!"

"I don't care!"

"Mr. Schue makes another passive aggressive life-lesson at your expense!"

"I don't care!"

"Mike makes yet another reference to how you need to include more pop and lock!"

"I don't care!"

"Matt says nothing!"

"I don't care!"

"Brittany reveals the color and cut of your underwear to the entire cafeteria when Santana makes a joke about what is under your skirt!"

"I don't care!"

"Quinn's drawing you having a threesome with a microphone and a piano!"

"Is that even possi- I don't care!"

"Finn is having Santana's babies!"

"I don't care! And... that sounds like it would hurt. But... _I don't care!_"

"Kurt has a complete set of Wicked memorabilia signed by Idina Menzel!"

"I don't- Well, actually I do care. But that's because I want it! Not because I want to beat Kurt about the head with-"

Rachel blinks. "Does it mean that this didn't work if I still think that Kurt is a vicious hypocrite who I want to squash like a bug?"

"Not at all," Jesse says cheerfully. "I'm fairly sure that there isn't a wish in the universe powerful enough to change that."

Rachel can't help but agree, but something occurs to her. "You didn't... You never mentioned Noa-_Puck_."

Jesse's smile is a little strange when he replies. "Do you care?"

"I... don't."

And Rachel wonders why something inside feels so hollow when she says it.

The thing is, it's not like Lima, Ohio is the next Jerusalem. There's a small Jewish community and they all pretty much live in one another's pockets, which means Rachel's known Noah Puckerman for longer than nearly anyone else she knows. And most of that time he's made her life a living hell. But in that whole time she's known him she's always felt _something_ towards him whether that be loathing, extra-loathing, (very briefly) lust or recently, guilt and concern. She's never _not_ felt anything for him, something she can't say about the other people in Glee. Feeling nothing is strange and there's a niggling feeling at the back of Rachel's head that maybe she doesn't need to wait for the third wish for the price to kick in.

Plastering on a "Rachel Berry Extra-Teeth Special", she turns to Jesse.

"So what are we doing today, Fake Friend Number One?"

Jesse slings an arm over her shoulders as she tries to elbow him in the side. "The same thing we do every day- take over the world, one high C at a time."

xXx

Rachel gets through her morning routine in record time- who knew that having a naked demon who can apparently phase through walls would lead to such an increase in efficiency?

When Rachel makes breakfast and Jesse asks for a plate, she's a little startled, but shrugs it off, since Jesse is hardly a textbook demon by any stretch of the imagination. Since he's given every indication that he's coming with her, she's starting to get a little uneasy that he's not doing anything about his er... new situation.

"I know that changing forms hurts, but aren't you going to do something before we go to McKinley?"

"Nope," says Jesse in between bites of omelet. "This is really good, by the way."

Rachel counts down from ten in her head. She makes it to five. "You mean that I am going to be going to school with a _naked demon who looks like my ex-boyfriend_?"

Jesse looks up from his meal. "Well yes, but in this form I'm invisible to everyone but you, so it's not like it matters."

Rachel is not violent. She's _not_.

"And do you have any idea what problems me talking to an 'invisible friend' is going to cause? We're going to have to come up with some strategies _now_."

Jesse looks more than a little confused and it's really, really not his fault that replacing McKinley with a sewage treatment facility would be an improvement in building contents. So Rachel takes a deep breath and tries to explain.

"The thing is, while discrimination against mental illness is cruel and reprehensible, with the impression everyone already has of me... I can't take the chance of doing something that they might actually take action on."

Jesse tilts his head. "You've lost me, Goddess of Music."

Rachel closes her eyes. "'Crazy' isn't just a charming nickname. If I'm reported for acting strange, chances are good that they will actually think I am insane. It's hard to make a Broadway debut from a padded cell that is not the set of 'Chicago'."

Jesse actually looks thoughtful. Or maybe gassy. She's not entirely sure.

"You know, while normally I use my extraordinary empathy to understand the peasant mind, I have to say I never understood that. I mean you're dramatic, driven, intense and selfish, but hell, so is New York! It's not like any of that is particularly unusual. I certainly don't see how they think it makes you crazy. And New Directions... It's like none of them have ever even _heard _of the competition circuit. I mean on the circuit, you'd practically be Bambi shortly after his tragic loss."

He suddenly looks very proud of himself. "I've been wanting to use that metaphor in conversation. I'm _good._"

Rachel tries really hard not to snort. It's just he's so... She chokes back her giggles, because he's starting to look a little offended. And honestly? He's a way better fake friend than he was a fake boyfriend, and he was a _really good _fake boyfriend. The thing is, of course, is that he's _right._ She'd walked into New Directions expecting it to work like the competition circuit and been blind-sided by the fact that everyone else seemed to be working from a set of rules that she'd never even seen. The singing part of competition is supposed to be the only part that is personal and somehow Glee is generally the exact opposite. Although she thinks wryly, maybe Mr. Schue _is _plumbing unknown emotional depths with "Bust a Move".

"As um... metaphorically _brilliant_ as that argument was, my vocabulary and intensity have already placed me in a precarious position. I don't think that they will see me talking to air as just another manifestation of my ambition."

"Well that's what happens when you have an entire school of flat-footed twirlies who are more obsessed with tearing you down than starring in their own lives."

Rachel finds that both funny and a little sad. Mainly because there's more than a little bit of truth to the Jesse-sult. She's also starting to learn enough social cues to realize when a conversation is being dodged. Her voice is maybe softer than she planned when she leans towards Jesse across the table.

"Is there a reason you can't take a human form?"

Jesse looks up and the bitterness in his eyes nearly makes Rachel flinch. "Well darling, Shel-... Let's just say that my pretty face went bye-bye and I'm not getting it back."

Rachel, maybe not surprisingly, knows something about lost dreams and burnt bridges. She doesn't allow herself to change expression- Jesse is very obviously _not_ looking for her sympathy. Her voice is perfectly level when she speaks, "All the more reason for us to work out an alternate form of communication."

There might be a brief flash of gratitude before Jesse tilts his head to the side.

"I can make text appear on a page. In blood."

"Works for me."

xXx

They finish the clean-up and make it nearly to the door (Rachel slowly coming to the realization that something is going to have to be done about Jesse-as-student), when Jesse surprises her yet _again._

"So what's the musical for today?"

Rachel's jaw drops. "How did you _know_?"

Jesse, strangely, looks like he's uncomfortable. "It's that you hum! A lot! With an obvious consistent theme! It's not that someone as talented and adored as myself would ever understand the need to-"

He straightens and flashes a wicked smirk. "Might I suggest 'Damn Yankees'?"

Rachel looks at him slyly from underneath her lashes, "You know, you lied that day on the stage."

She waits for a beat while he gives her his "Um, _yes?_" expression.

"You're _way_ more of a drama queen than I am."

He actually shrieks. "Take it back! Take it back!"

Rachel giggles and dodges his flailing arms as she carefully steers them out the door.

It's so much easier dealing with Jesse when she doesn't care about whether or not she's impressing him.

Wait.

_Jesse_ was still, technically, a McKinley student when she made her wish.

As they head towards her car, she wonders if he realizes that he's just as much a part of the wish as the rest of the "flat-footed twirlies".

This has, she thinks, the potential to become _very interesting_.

xXx

The ground rules are laid out in the McKinley parking lot- color-coded with neatly labeled addendums. The rules boil down to two basic things. Jesse can sense people, so if he initiates conversation Rachel will know that it is safe to speak, otherwise Rachel will write in her new, specially designated Jesse-book and Jesse will respond. Other rules deal with Jesse's shameless exhibitionism and expectation of the same from Rachel. Jesse will not place his genitalia in Rachel's belongings, objects that come into contact with any part of Rachel or people who regularly come into contact with Rachel. Also, pursuant to her morning's discoveries, toilet-time is _private time_ and not a sign that she wishes to have a conversation about how heavy her menses are.

She wonders a little as she goes into the school if the wish wasn't as effective as she thought because she cares so much about not being reported for insanity. Then of course it becomes obvious. Because, while she doesn't care about the people at school, she very much _does_ care about being forced to deal with adults who aren't as self-centered and blind as the ones at McKinley. It's not that she thinks that they'll discover that she's made a deal with the devil, it's that she can't see it ending in any way that will make her path to Broadway _smoother._

To this end, in addition to not speaking to thin air, Rachel is going to have to gradually phase in most of her... plans. Even though she wants to do everything Right. Now... Well, she realizes that any dramatic changes in the way she reacts will probably make people curious in a not very good way. Although probably only if it affects them, so maybe she'll be fine?

It's not a chance she can afford to take.

So, unfortunately, she can only try a single plan today. Fortunately, it's also one of her favorites, although it might take more than one day to fully implement. Also fortunately- no Spanish _or _Glee, so she can get through an entire weekend before she has to decide how to act around Mr. Schue and the gleeks. Feeling buoyed and a little bit dangerous, Rachel strides into the school humming, "_Two lost souls on the highway of life/ We ain't even got a sister or brother/ Ain't it just great, ain't it just grand?/ We've got each other!_"

This feeling of comaraderie and fellow-damnation is very quickly put to the test. Jesse, unfortunately, seems to be having a _very_ difficult time respecting the sanctity of the Jesse-book.

_Rachel, I'm bored._

_**These are my Biology notes, you jerk.**_

_Hey, I can teach you __**everything**__ you need to know about human anatomy. My physique is specially designed for instruction._

_**How is it possible to take the world's worst pickup line and make it worse?**_

_**Also- is there anytime in the history of the universe that that has ever worked as a pickup line?**_

_..._

_No._

_**Now go away before I have to explain why I have such personal detailed knowledge of the inside of male genitalia.**_

_Is that a threat?_

_..._

_Because it is rather physically stimulating._

_**You sound like Jacob Ben Israel.**_

When Jesse stops writing, Rachel is amazed to discover that yes, even Jacob Ben Israel has his role in the universe. It does make her wonder though how the penis ever achieved sentient life. Although maybe 'sentience' might be a bit of a stretch.

Although it is a lot more fun to have Jesse to herself during lunch (particularly since Rachel is still avoiding, well, everybody and eating in the auditorium), she decides that he really needs to stretch his legs, so to speak, before the next round of classes (because even when he's being an idiot, she's too selfish to want to go back to sitting through the lectures alone).

She wonders if she should be concerned at the look of malicious glee on Jesse's face when he takes off down the hallway.

She _knows _she should be concerned that she's pretty sure that the wall that he just phased through is the wall to Sue Sylvester's office.

Rachel decides to ignore it, because honestly? She's not sure how her life can get any weirder. And if Sue Sylvester actually _is_ Cthulhu, it's not really her problem anyways. The hallway is oddly empty, which is rather lucky because there's no-one to notice her visible shudder, except maybe that guy at the end of the row of lockers.

Oh.

_Puck._

Fortunately he's at some distance, but as Puck walks down the hallway-

_"You know Berry makes me want to light myself on fire."_

Rachel blinks, trying not to think about the emptiness where she thinks the hurt for that statement would sit. She keeps her expression carefully blank when Puck glances her way.

Wait.

Why is Puck shifting direction _towards _her?

_"I only dated her because my Mom said I was a fucking Nazi for not dating Jewish girls."_

Even though it doesn't (shouldn't) hurt, Rachel can't help but flinch when he stops in front of her. She's sure that she must be imagining the expression of hurt on Puck's face that vanishes almost as quickly as it comes.

"_Berry_, these guns aren't used for smacking around crazies, so you can stop looking like I trashed your Broadway posters and shit."

"Yeah, that was so _last year_," Rachel mutters and is shocked when Puck very, very briefly flinches.

There's no way he could have heard her, right?

She decides she must have imagined it, because Puck is now violating every socially acceptable rule of personal space. Really- does he _need_ to loom over her like that? She _knows _she is differently-heighted- there's no need to brace his arm on her head and-

Did he always smell like he bathes in pine needles and smoke?

"Speaking of crazy, did the world end last night and I missed it? I mean, fuck, I would have thought it would have taken like, some kind of apocalyptic shit for you to miss a chance to humiliate yourself on MySpace."

What?

Oh _fudge_.

Rachel gives a rather forced grin- a pale shadow of the normal Smile of Congeniality Number Four. "Sometimes genius needs a little time to simmer. I'm sure my next performance will more than compensate for my fans."

With a quick nod, she pivots and heads off before he can ask any more awkward questions. This is not good. If _Noah Puckerman_ can notice that something is off then-

Wait.

Noah Puckerman watches her MySpace?

Noah Puckerman is _on _MySpace?

Deciding that the universe still has mysteries beyond her comprehension she hurries to class, trying to ignore the prickling sensation between her shoulder blades.

xXx

Jesse shows up to every class.

He obeys all the rules they agreed on.

This is not a good thing.

Rachel has decided that she will never ever speak of this again.

She still isn't sure how it is possible to stage a one-man re-enactment of 'The Sound of Music' using penis puppets. On the plus side, she _thinks_ she convinced her English teacher that the seizures would clear up by Monday.

xXx

She has a spare block just before the end of classes and she's completely grateful because she's fairly sure that in one more period Jesse would have made Beetlejuice look like a sweetheart. With that in mind, she hurriedly heads to the very back of the library where, yes, they can actually talk. Of course, most people would have just headed home, but Rachel Berry is far more committed to her academics than _most people. _So there. (Well that and going home probably means being treated to Jesse's version of 'Fiddler on the Roof' until Shabbat)

She actually manages to get a fair bit of homework done before, oddly enough, she is the one to break the silence.

"I'm surprised I haven't been slushied yet today. Now that I don't care, the neanderthal tendencies of the athletic population is something that I will no longer tolerate."

"So... you want to use your third wish to make them stop harassing you?"

"Oh no," Rachel grins as Jesse's face falls. "I've got a _Plan_."

There's a strange, grudging admiration in his voice as he mumbles, "Of course you do."

Rachel isn't sure why he expected otherwise. Surely he must realize that she never intends to use her third wish? She is quite sure that the first two should place her in the position she needs to achieve her dreams on her own. She makes a mental note to bring it up with him when they have more time.

Rachel stares off into space, thinking about what she needs to do. There really aren't enough hours in the day.

"I wish-"

"Yes?"

Jesse is leaning forward his face the perfect picture of greed and anticipation and it's like a bucket of cold water. No matter how much she's enjoying him, Rachel _can't forget_. Jesse is a paid-for pretend friend. He is a very good paid-for pretend friend, but he's still after the one thing that Rachel has that is solely hers. She gives him the nod of acknowledgment due a worthy opponent, but this is one game that Rachel can't afford to lose.

She needs a follow-up, preferably neutral and thoughtful, that will distract both of them from the bitter truth.

"Will you join me for Shabbat?"

It's almost like Rachel is _trying_ to write 'The Big Book of Stupid'.

So it really is a complete surprise when Jesse says, almost hesitantly, "I'd like that."

Of course, he immediately follows it up with, "I make a marvelous Tevye, if I do say so myself."

She _knew _he was going to break out the Fiddler.

But still...

More than a little shaken and needing some time to regroup, Rachel insists that they part ways while she gets her homework.

It's while at her locker that the day finally starts to go her way. When Dave Karofsky comes towards her with a slushie just as she finishes grabbing her books, Rachel can't believe her luck.

Because, she suspects, the school secretary hates her, her locker is mixed in with a variety of members of McKinley's various athletic teams. Normally this is just a way to ensure maximum possible harassment, but today... Today it might actually work in her favor.

Honestly, she's not sure why she tolerated the slushies for so long. It could be at least in part because she genuinely thought they would get bored and stop if she didn't react. It could be because the adults in the school were so willing to ignore it.

But there was also a part of herself, that she can only acknowledge _now_, that thought that any attention was better than no attention at all.

Well, fudge that noise.

Rachel Berry is _back_.

Do they think that Sandy Ryerson fired _himself_?

She carefully schools her face into Wide-Eyed Expression of Surprise (With a Little Fear) Number Eight and casually, carefully takes a step backwards.

As she moves, Rachel quietly hums to herself, "_You gotta know just what to say and how to say it/You gotta know what game to play and how to play it._"

As Karofsky moves towards her she takes another step backwards, still humming, "_You gotta stack those decks with a couple-a extra aces/ And this queen has her aces /In all the right places!_"

She's very nearly in position now. "_A little brains-a little talent/With the emphasis on the latta!_"

She has reached optimal position! Rachel had thought that it would take days before she would be able to do this, but it appears that, for once, luck or the devil (maybe literally?) is on her side. She is now directly in line with a gentleman from McKinley's wrestling team.

A gentleman she only knows as "Moose", or more accurately, "Holy fuck, it's that giant fucker _Moose_."

She feels slightly guilty because she is sure that Moose is probably a talented, misunderstood boy, who does much more in his spare time than breaking brick walls with his head.

Not guilty enough however to stop her from innocently stepping out of the way when Karofsky lifts the cup in front of her.

xXx

As she watches the wrestling and hockey/football teams violently express their displeasure with one another (from a safe distance of course), she feels Jesse wrap an arm around her waist. "Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets?"

She turns into him smiling brilliantly. "I strongly disapprove of violence as a solution to problems, but I admit that there is something deeply satisfying-"

"About seeing them receive half of the bruises and bleeding they inflicted on you?"

Rachel is a little startled that he'd noticed, but she ultimately just sighs. "In their defense, I think that most of them don't make the connection between the damage an iceball can do and throwing containers of improperly ground ice at me. I'm just relieved that it should stop now."

Jesse bites his lip. "I must admit that I don't fully understand why you don't think that this is going to make things worse rather than better?"

Rachel shrugs, with a slightly bittersweet smile.

"You don't know McKinley as well as I do. I've always been incidental, Jesse, and I'm about to become a lot more so. I was an easy target, but give them a new shinier toy to play with, even if it's just to _hate_, and they'll forget all about me."

It isn't as depressing as it once was, but Rachel finds a quiet regret that is not about _McKinley_, but that she never even had a chance to be more than she was.

Leaning quietly into Jesse's shoulder, she makes her way to the parking lot, trying, again, to ignore the sensation that someone, somewhere is watching. It's probably the silliest paranoia she's ever experienced. After all, when has anyone at McKinley, other than Jacob Ben Israel, ever wanted to watch her?

xXx

Afterschool is pretty much as Rachel imagined.

Jesse _does_ sing Fiddler.

He _is_ disgustingly good.

But in Rachel's humble opinion, her Golde holds up pretty well, thank you very much.

He does disappear again, but is back by the time that she's ready to celebrate dinner. Deciding that she's better off not knowing, Rachel actually bites her tongue and puts together the food for Shabbat.

"_Shabbat shalom_," she sings out as she brings out the meal, before realizing that that's _probably _not appropriate.

It's not as awkward as she thought it would be. He even sits through the blessing without bursting into flame. After they've broken the challah, there's something that Rachel, in the spirit of the honesty she's tried to live her life by (other than that stupid, pointless lie to Finn of all people), feels the need to air.

"I apologize if I have inadvertently misled you into believing something based on the speed of my initial wishes. I have an organized mind and have prepared for many unlikely scenarios, although apparently not as unlikely as I had imagined. Although I am quite sure that my first two wishes are _not _voided by this decision, I hope that you don't disappear once I let you know that I have no intention of ever using my third wish. I may not be the world's most observant Jew, but I am hardly going to sign away the most vital part of my being, that provides the Streisand to my Diamond and that is the only part of myself that is entirely _mine _and not shaped by outside forces."

There's a heavy silence that Rachel hadn't expected before Jesse finally replies.

"You will."

Rachel thinks that if he sounded confident or arrogant or like _Jesse_, she would have had no problem believing in her own victory.

He sounded _sad_.

Rachel has never been more terrified.

xXx

Any and all comments welcomed and appreciated!

_Updated May 2, 2010_


	3. Chapter 3: Bitter and Sweet

**Author's Note**s: Once again a huge thank-you to everyone who commented, alerted or favourited. Seriously, it keeps me going when I get nervous :) Ironically the first draft of this was written before "Bad Reputation" (and "Bad Reputation" is actually hilariously appropriate to certain future plot points). On the plus side, at least I'm not exaggerating Rachel's role on the show :) I've also got a request for information at the bottom of the chapter. If you're a big Glee trivia fan I would really appreciate your help. If nothing else, it will make the next chapter come out much faster :). In other trivia notes, I'm taking the Mark Salling interview where he says that Quinn is currently living with Puck as canon. Extra-special bonus cookies for anyone who catches the musical conversation this chapter!

**Warnings**: Rated M for language, violence and suggestive sexy fun-times. Sort-of-spoilers for "Home", but not really. Don't expect episode fidelity from here on out.

**Disclaimer**: Glee, The Secret Garden ('There's a Girl', 'The Girl I Mean to Be', 'Come to My Garden'), blink-and-you'll-miss-it Showboat reference, "You Can't Always Get What You Want", "You're So Vain" and Jewish proverbs do not belong to me, alas. Speaking of which, I had no idea the libretto of 'Secret Garden' was so hella depressing until I started picking apart the lyrics.

**Quick definitions**: 'Pritzeh' is Yiddish for 'princess', 'Bubeleh' is a Yiddish term of endearment meaning 'little grandmother' and 'Shikseh' or 'shiksa' is Yiddish for a non-Jewish girl or woman (literally seductress) or 'that no-good pregnant Christian girl living in my basement'.

**Chapter Summary**: Rachel thinks that maybe she needs to re-evaluate her choice in inspiring musicals.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Bitter and Sweet**

_"D__on't be sweet, lest you be eaten up; don't be bitter, lest you be spewed out."_

-Jewish Proverb

_**Still Not Thursday**_**.**

The trick is to be firm, but clear. Rachel has seen the obedience shows about alpha and omega and doggie treats. She will be strong; she will gradually ease into the conversation. She is just worried that perhaps her natural subtlety and delicacy will fail to convey her point.

"Jesse?"

"Hmm?"

"This is my bed."

"Nice bed."

"Yes it is. But Jesse..."

"'Mmm?"

"We have beds. _Many_ beds. Beds with pillows! Beds with lumbar support! Beds with artfully-placed hand-worked fair-trade duvets!"

Jesse is still curled around a pillow and Rachel works really hard to ignore how he looks, all disheveled and sleepy-eyed. She tries to soften her voice. "Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

"You have beds?"

Rachel explodes. "_Why aren't you in one of __**them**__?_"

xXx

Rachel had posted a MySpace video after supper.

Looking back, she's pretty sure that the most bizarre thing that has happened to her in the forty-eight hours that she has discovered just how awful her life actually is, made a contract with her literally demonic ex-boyfriend and turned the wrestling and hockey teams into the low-rent version of the Jets and the Sharks is having to post a MySpace video in order to placate Noah Puckerman. Seriously, if she was considering converting to Mayan end-of-world theology, this would be the trigger. Since she imagines there will be limited Broadway in the post-Apocalypse, she refuses to acknowledge that possibility.

But still, it was a horrifying realization that had, however, _no effect _on her choice of songs. Rachel is a pure artist, totally uninfluenced by outside forces.

Naturally, the seminal classic "You're So Vain" will appeal to the deep musical sensibilities of her _actual_ fans.

So there.

(Which doesn't explain why, within half an hour, she got such incredibly nasty texts from Santana, Kurt, Mercedes, Quinn and Brittany.)

(Although she thinks that Brittany's wasn't so much nasty as post-modern performance art. Why else write, "R apricot scarfs gud 2 eat?")

(Actually, that was a nice counterpoint to Finn's text about fifteen minutes later, "U r mean. Y r clouds in yr coffee?")

(And how do these people all know her number anyways?)

Anyways.

She posted her MySpace video and decided that since denial had been working so well for her for so many years, she was going to start on her active campaign of pretending that she wasn't one wish away from becoming as horny as her ex-boyfriend.

Somehow that doesn't sound quite-

_Anyways_.

However, no matter how formidable a triple threat Rachel plans on being, her three-day check-in with her dads drained every last bit of composure she could muster. She barely summoned enough energy to continue ignoring Jesse and crawl into bed. Which was of course, completely fine until she woke up with _feathers in her mouth_.

Jesse is being, not entirely unexpectedly, stubbornly uncooperative.

"There certainly is no need to sleep on my fathers' 'Bed of Iniquity'. We have a number of very well-appointed guest rooms. Never used!"

Rachel could swear that a flash of panic passes over his face, before it settles into something hard and completely immovable. His voice is equally hard when he replies.

"And voices? What other rooms are equipped at optimum temperature, humidity and light regime to preserve and maintain delicate vocal apparati. My voice is my _instrument_! How can you ask me to accept anything less than the best?"

And while Rachel has a small, niggling suspicion of _something_, how can she argue with that?

xXx

Unfortunately, the morning stress doesn't end there. While Rachel is not the world's most observant Jew, she does attend Temple regularly and somehow thinks that attending today would be a _really good idea_.

You know, unless G-d decides to smite her.

She needs a sign, some kind of theatrical vision or message from the heavens that she will still be welcomed into the Temple without turning into a burning bush or some other allegorical warning.

She really doesn't want to be an allegorical warning.

Just as she is trying to figure out what is the equivalent of a scarlet 'A' for devil-pacts, the phone rings and her eyes widen in fear.

Surely G-d doesn't have a cell plan?

The conversation is short but effective. Within two minutes, Rachel absently hangs up the phone, feeling more than a little dazed.

Who knew that the Voice of G-d sounds exactly like Mrs. Puckerman?

And according to G-d, via Mrs. Puckerman, she is to take Rachel to Temple to make sure that her fathers' absence doesn't result in her absence from being the "good little Jewish girl – _you hear that, NOAH?-_" that everyone knows that she is.

Honestly?

Rachel thinks that G-d is

a) Not subtle.

b) Kind of mean.

Jesse is strangely subdued when she tells him of her decision (minus the Voice of G-d part). He picks at his banana crêpe for at least five minutes before he musters up a wink and an overly broad grin. "Well, that will certainly allow me to test out the new sound-proofing on your room with the full extent of my vocal skills."

Rachel blinks. "By yourself?"

They both stare wide-eyed at one another before Rachel determines that yes, demons _can _blush. The worst part is, she actually was referring to the fact that she thought he was coming with her.

She refuses to think about the strange feeling in the pit of her stomach when she realizes that he's not.

She's still off-balance and more nervous than she wants to be when she hears the knock on the door. Then she's _literally_ off-balance because she trips over the Elton doorstop as she turns the knob and does a graceful swandive into-

"Meep," says Rachel.

"I _knew_ you wanted the gunshow."

Rachel quickly rights herself, hoping that G-d understands that Rachel is well aware that He hates her. Smirking Puck is now more irritating than humiliating, but she needs a diversion. Quickly. Rachel squints towards the car, and, with her usual social skill and grace, asks the first question that pops into her head.

"Quinn?"

Rachel wonders if she's imagining the dark look that passes over Puck's face.

"Out with Britt and Santana, doing whatever shit the three of them do together."

Now Rachel _is _concerned. There wasn't even a hint of sexual objectification in his voice. She fumbles with her keys and tries to think of how to respond. However by the time she turns around, Puck's already halfway down the driveway and she wouldn't put it past him to get his family to leave without her.

It turns out she has nothing to worry about.

Mrs. Puckerman pops out of the car and starts frantically brushing at his clothing and his –minimal- hair. Rachel turns her head to stifle her giggle at Pu- no, _Noah_. She's been really trying not to think of him as Noah. But somehow, irritably batting his mother's hand away from his collar, it's impossible to think of him as anything but.

Rachel's next unpleasant surprise comes when she gets into the back seat and discovers that in violation of all laws of convention, decency and Thermodynamics, _Noah _is sitting in the middle with her and his sister Sarah on the outside.

Trying to decide if it's too late to call shotgun, even if the seat is covered in... things that may or may not be moving, Rachel hisses at Noah while his mother starts the car.

"Why subject yourself to my close proximity without due cause?"

At the expression on his face, she carefully sounds out her revision. "Why. Are. You. Sitting. In. The. Middle?"

His eyes are suddenly really dark and Rachel swallows a nervous gulp as he leans into her.

"Because you're-"

His breath on her ear sends a wave of goosebumps down her arms.

"_-way _more fun to piss off than short stack, here."

Rachel bursts into laughter.

Then she laughs even harder, because Noah's expression... Noah looks like _he _was the one who had to witness Jesse's penis puppetry. Which she is still not speaking of. Ever.

Rachel can actually feel a slightly charitable burst of sympathy. Poor Noah! After thirteen years of pulling her hair, dumping various condiments on her outfits at community dinners and tearing off Mr. Bojangles' arm because "Why the hell are you spending all your time with that dumb toy?", she finally, _finally_ doesn't care! Well, unless he interferes with her goals and outside social networking, in which case she will _cut him_, but otherwise...

Unfortunately, he recovers quickly. Certainly quickly enough to move just an extra inch closer to her, while Sarah stares at both of them like they're about to look over and eat her. Rachel wonders why he feels the need to brace his arm on the seat rest behind _her_, but puts it down, again, to him finding her more amusing to irritate than his sister and just trying to figure out a way to do it.

As they pull out of the driveway, Rachel can't help but watch Jesse standing in the window staring after the car. When she catches movement out of the corner of her eye, she becomes increasingly puzzled.

She knows why _she's _staring at the window.

She just wonders why Noah is doing the same.

xXx

"Are you feeling better, _pritzeh_?"

For one horrible moment, Rachel imagines that Mrs. Puckerman knows _everything_ before she realizes that, despite the overwhelming evidence of Noah's existence, it is unlikely that Mrs. Puckerman herself is tied into the demonic soul-stealing circuit. However, some of her panic and lack of understanding must have shown on her face, because Mrs. Puckerman gives her a disturbingly kind smile when she clarifies herself.

"I understand you had to leave that club of yours early, and Hiram always talks about how much you love to perform."

Rachel mumbles something about a sudden, miraculous Shabbat-induced recovery, but really there's only one thing running through her mind.

Why would Noah tell his mother about Rachel's unfortunate exit?

It's almost like he can _hear _her thoughts, because when she glances over he glares at her and forces his words out through gritted teeth.

"Mr. Schue was being a real bitch after and wouldn't let me go pick up the mini-devil."

There is a brief moment of silence, then almost simultaneously:

"Moooo-ooom, Noah called me a deeee-vvil!"

"Language, Noah!"

"So you were going to blame it on _me_?"

Unfortunately, Rachel is, as usual, half a beat behind everyone else and all of the car's occupants turn to stare at her. Noah's smirk is expected, Sarah's look of sympathy less so, but Mrs. Puckerman... Mrs. Puckerman opens and then closes her mouth, before her lips tilt up in a very strange smile.

"Noah asked me if anything was going around in the community."

Rachel almost doesn't hear his mumbled reply and she's positive that it's too quiet for his mother.

"Yeah well, you open your mouth so much I didn't want to catch that shit."

She would have thought that covered it fairly nicely, but Noah seems to be sinking deeper and deeper into his seat. And... are his ears turning pink?

He's... embarrassed?

Rachel is honestly baffled. His language may be appalling, but she thinks it quite commendable to attempt to avoid potential sources of contamination.

Sadly, the puzzle that is Noah Puckerman occupies the rest of the ride to Temple and through the entirety of Rabbi Greenburg, which seems ridiculous since she honestly doesn't care. She has to admit that it is a good distraction from checking to see if her panda-head sweater has caught on fire. However by the time everyone is milling around and talking she knows that she needs to ask at least one of her questions or her allegorical punishment will involve exploding messily in the foyer. Taking a deep breath, she turns to Noah who is casually flicking spitballs at the eternal light.

"What I don't understand is... You're never at Temple anymore. Did something change?"

Noah scowls.

"Yeah, my Mom's knowledge of where I'd been putting my dick."

Rachel tries to think of a way to put this delicately. "Forgive me, but I thought that your er... exploits were pretty obvious."

"Not as obvious as a pregnant cheerleader in her basement."

Rachel winces, then attempts to clarify. "So your mother wasn't pleased to discover she was about to become a grandmother?"

Noah actually snorts.

"She says, 'Shiksa' like it's the fucking password to my balls."

It takes two seconds for their eyes to simultaneously widen in horror.

"Not like that, Berry! It's just... fuck... You have no idea, between Knocked-up Barbie Hitler and Jewish mother owning my _soul,_ it's literally like living in fucking hell."

Rachel can't help the quirk of her lips as she mutters, "Oh I have _some_ idea."

To her surprise, Noah doesn't take this as a throwaway joke (which, since most of her jokes don't seem to register as jokes, isn't maybe _that_ surprising), but his face actually darkens into an impressive scowl.

"Listen Berry, if someon-"

"Noah! _Noah_! Come say hello to Mrs. Ben Israel."

Rachel almost feels sorry for him. Almost.

The only people more horrible to engage in conversation than Jacob Ben Israel are either of his parents. She flashes Sweet Smile of Complete Innocence Two and a Half while slowly edging towards the door.

"Well, I'll just go wait over he-"

She must have hit a rough patch on the carpet because Noah's sudden grasp of her arm feels a little bit like being electrocuted.

"Like fuck you will. If I have to hear about Jewfro's fucking bris cut by cut, you get to ralph right there with me."

Rachel blames the thought about learning anything about Jacob's below waist parts for what happens next.

"Can't make me!"

In the ensuing –quiet- struggle where Rachel tries to determine the politically correct way to take out Noah's knees without alerting Mrs. Goldberg to her actions, she somehow finds herself tucked into Noah's side, hands pinned behind her back by the steel arm around her waist. She aborts her attempts to kick his shins after her first try where he says loudly, "Rachel, I'm a _good_ Jew. Don't make me work today, baby!"

Trying to ignore the gasp from sweet Mr. Cohen and the wide-eyed stare of Rabbi Greenburg, Rachel determines that there is only one appropriate course of action. She plasters her widest, most intense smile on her face as she whispers up towards his ear. "I'm going to kill you."

Noah leers –_leers- _down at her. "Sorry babe- there's only one way I'm going to go and I don't think you're up for the ride."

_"I only dated her because my Mom said I was a fucking Nazi for not dating Jewish girls."_

xXx

There's that brief moment of freefall where what should be hurt just resolves as empty space before Rachel finally puts the pieces together. It's so obvious that it makes the plot of "Titanic" look like nuclear physics. In one morning and less than thirty seconds of maneuvering, No-_Puck_ has convinced the entire Temple that he has a one hundred percent Jewish girlfriend.

His mother must be very happy.

Undoubtedly his actual girlfriend, Quinn, will be less happy, but Rachel thinks that Puck hasn't thought that far ahead.

She doesn't care what he thinks of her, but somehow being used just isn't fun anymore.

She doesn't struggle as he drags her over and, in fact, manages to miss most of the discussion which is actually about Jacob's Bar Mitzvah rather than his bris and only marginally less disgusting. She doesn't look at Puck, because while she doesn't care about his opinion, she does care about the Temple and murdering him on the grounds probably will prompt that allegorical warning she was so worried about. The only thing that she doesn't understand when they finally finish and head out to the car is why, after having more than sufficiently made his point, it took so long for him to let go of her waist.

Rachel doesn't bother talking in the car either. She's not really in the mood to play along with whatever it is that Puck is doing and she likes Mrs. Puckerman and Sarah too much to say the other things that are on her mind. She stares fixedly out the window, even when Puck appears to be attempting Morse Code with his finger against her arm. When they pull into the driveway, her eyes are unconsciously drawn to only one place.

Jesse's still standing at the window.

Rachel wonders if he's moved the entire time they've been gone or if he reappeared with that lost look on his face just before they arrived. She doesn't think on it too much longer because she could swear that she heard a low growl from the seat beside her.

Puck's scowling at her house, more specifically... Maybe the hedge? Or... the window?

Does he have a problem with her attempt at Japanese floral arrangement?

Having solved the mystery of Puck's behavior and not wanting to feel any more of that unpleasant churning sensation in her stomach, Rachel forces out Cheerful Disposition without Overpowering Manic Edge (Still Unsuccessful and thus Unnumbered).

"Well, thank you so much for bringing me to Temple! I believe that it is important to exercise social connections amongst those of disadvantaged cultural backgrounds and you certainly allowed me to do that!"

She can't believe that Puck grabs her arm before she can exit.

"_Mom_, don't we have all that extra shit for lunch or something today?"

Rachel can see mirror-Mrs. Puckerman blink very rapidly before she develops a, quite honestly, terrifying smile.

"Such a good boy, Noah, to remind your mother like that. Rachel dear, we have so much food today- no need for you to cook all by yourself. Join us!"

It's not a question.

On the other hand...

Rachel has a very clear visual of how _that_ meal would go. She can just see the Puckermans, Quinn and her having conversation about which boyfriends she and Quinn have had in common and how far they got with each of them.

While Puck's doing what?

Pretending she's his girlfriend in front of his existing girlfriend and mother of his child?

Rachel closes her eyes and, for once, doesn't need to do _anything_ with her voice. It is frighteningly easy to just let weeks of exhaustion finally come up from underneath. "Honestly, I am very grateful for the offer. But it has been... I am very, very tired and I'm afraid that I need to rest."

She closes her eyes because Mrs. Puckerman and possibly Sarah are probably two of the only people in the world who seem to actually like her and it hurts her to think of offending them. The wholly unexpected gentleness of Mrs. Puckerman's reply nearly brings her to tears.

"Of course, _bubeleh_, all princesses need a little rest now and then. You come have meals with us when you feel better."

Rachel nods, not trusting herself to speak, and stumbles out of the car in her haste to get away. Somehow, she makes it to the door and braves one glance behind her before she enters into the house.

She wishes she hadn't.

She knows Puck is angry that she foiled his plans.

But why did he look like she'd punched him instead?

xXx

"I need your help."

Jesse looks up from where he's striking various musical poses in the mirror.

"Wish help?"

Rachel shakes her head, too tired to be offended by his enthusiasm.

"_Friend_ help. Or pretend friend help. Just... help that falls under my second wish, I think."

Rachel had given herself one day to mope. A day where she wasn't supposed to work seemed like a good day to reflect on the nightmare that was her life and what, exactly, she was planning on doing about it. Jesse had seemed to sense some of her mood, because he hadn't said much, although, strangely he had spent most of the day in some kind of physical contact with her. She had remembered her MySpace video and crawled into bed, not even really noticing when Jesse crawled in with her.

But that was yesterday.

Today, Rachel Berry is _back_.

Tired, a little battle sore, but entirely ready to take on the world again.

"You must be wondering why I seemed so wholly invested in a Glee club that would do precisely nothing to advance my stated goals."

_That_ certainly gets his attention. The look he gives her holds more respect than she's ever seen him offer.

"It seemed to me an... odd lack of understanding of the musical world, particularly with your training and background."

The corner of her mouth twists up, "And I'm betting, that if you had really been planning on a musical career, Vocal Adrenaline would have been good for a scholarship but worthless for an audition."

Jesse leans forwards, a small smile spreading over his face. "Do go on."

"Have they looked at our former Glee clubbers? April Rhodes and Mr. Schue?"

She shudders.

"Seriously... _Mr. Schue..._"

Rachel shakes her head. "I mean, what do they think Glee prepares them for?"

Jesse's smile becomes a grin. He and Rachel sing out in unison, "Don't play Fiddler to audition for Tevye!"

Once they stop stupidly grinning at one another, Jesse's face sobers.

"Then _why_?"

"I felt that I had most of my technical aspects under control by the start of this year, or at least, I could afford to slow down slightly on the professional side. What I wanted to advance-"

Rachel takes a deep breath. "-was the _personal._ I wanted to be special, part of something special that people at school could see and respect. Of course I wanted us to be National Champions, grinding clubs like you overproduced Vocal Adrenaline monstrosities into the dust! But mainly, I wanted to work to succeed while meeting people who cared about the same things that I did, who might have actually understood me."

"Might have actually liked you," Jesse says softly.

"Yes well," Rachel shakes her head. "That's all behind me now. I assumed that things ran like the competition circuit, and that my driven and admittedly grating personality was not fatal to most interactions, which was obviously a mistake. So I need to refocus my energies. The problem is that I need to seriously ramp up the professional side of things if I am to make my goals. My current lessons are inadequate and I'm going to need to find some kind of group forum at the Academy to balance out not getting that kind of challenge in Glee. I would imagine that you've compiled a fairly extensive dossier on me and would probably know better than anyone else what I need to fix weak points and strengthen my resumé. I need to advance further on the circuit than I did last year if I am to catch the right kind of attention."

Jesse reaches over to tap her lightly on the nose. "Got it. And yes, I do have an embarrassingly large dossier that it will nice to be able to actually use rather than just document the number of times a single person can listen to 'Break My Stride'."

Rachel refuses to think about what any of that admission actually means. "If you don't mind, I'd like to have some concrete ideas by the end of the week. In the meantime, I am going to attend one session of each of my other school clubs that I have sadly been neglecting and decide whether or not I will continue or gracefully bow out."

Rachel is a little shocked when Jesse actually appears to be pouting. "I don't get to dress up for Renaissance Club. I like codpieces."

There are times when Rachel forgets that Jesse is permanently naked.

This is not one of them.

She tries to laugh off her discomfort and really, she is genuinely puzzled. She decides that a good compromise is to flutter her eyelashes, while using her Expression of Exaggerated Innocence (Work in Progress).

"I don't understand- why would someone of your size need one?"

The air suddenly smells like the electricity before a storm.

Rachel dares a glance at Jesse and barely stifles a gasp. Jesse's eyes are flickering between gold and solid black and... is his face shifting?

His voice is rough and raw and nearly unrecognizable. "You need to leave."

"_**Now**_!"

Rachel doesn't argue. The tips of his fingers are gradually lengthening into bone-white claws. As she reaches the door, his final hoarse words chase her down the stairs.

"_Don't play, little girl. You might not like my kind of game._"

xXx

Rachel finally creeps back upstairs when the air no longer smells like ozone. She knows this is stupid, perhaps one of the single stupidest things she's ever done. But in spite of herself, all she can see is the tendons in Jesse's arms nearly snapping as he restrains himself from going after her.

She thinks she owes him this much.

He's on the floor, collapsed in the center of a series of very deep grooves, but otherwise looking exactly like the demon who offered her three wishes such a short and long time ago. Not thinking too hard about what she is doing, Rachel gently props his arm over her shoulder and half-drags, half-carries him to her bed.

Rachel looks down at Jesse, so pale and drawn, as she pulls the covers over him. She stands there for a full minute, staring, before she finally finds the words she was looking for.

"This would be so much easier if you weren't the best friend I've ever had."

xXx

Jesse is still unconscious Monday morning.

Rachel knows that there are a number of things that she should be worried about, including the fact that someone might notice that she missed _another_ MySpace video. Unfortunately, all she can think about is that Jesse is still unconscious, not because she cares, because of course she _doesn't_, but because it means that she has to suffer through the idiots at McKinley by herself. Of course that's it. Not the fact that her eyes were watering last night when she wrapped her arms around him (body heat helps unconscious people, doesn't it?) because that was due entirely to allergies! Why would she _ever_ care about such a... a hypocritical hypocrite! He spends all this time trying to sing to her and use stupid pick up lines and really bad seduction techniques and then he gets mad at her for one teensy tiny flirtation? Well, if by 'mad' she means 'growing extra razor sharp appendages' which is still _completely unfair_.

It takes every ounce of stubbornness she has to leave for McKinley and _not_ find 'just one more blanket' for Jesse.

For a school Rachel doesn't actually care about, a surprising amount of Rachel's morning is spent in active avoidance of people and situations. The thing is, not caring doesn't mean not finding _massively irritating_. So when Jacob seems to be on a heat-seeking mission to intercept, Rachel utilizes her full knowledge of escape routes to evade. She lucks out in Spanish because Mr. Schue seems distracted (which actually is normal standards about now) and she does nothing to draw his attention. When Puck seems like he might actually make eye contact, or worse, _walk towards her,_ Rachel ducks behind Moose having a gentle philosophical conversation with Dave Karofsky, so that Puck is unable to see her over all of the giant, hammy fists.

Her luck runs out at lunch in the auditorium.

In hindsight, Rachel realizes that the awareness of her life plan amongst the people she deals with might occasionally make her a wee bit predictable. Perhaps swapping the Glee room for the auditorium isn't a dramatic enough shift in locale. That is all water under the bridge though when Rachel realizes who it is who is opening the doors to the auditorium. Rachel can hear them before she sees them, which isn't unusual, but implies a lack of the coordination they normally have when approaching her for these friendly chats.

"- going to lose that weight Mercedes if I have to stick _my_ finger down your throat. I am _not_ giving up this opportunity to climb McKinley's ladder. Cheerios is my ticket _up_."

Rachel is still processing all the wrongness of that statement when Kurt and Mercedes, and only Kurt and Mercedes, appear in front of her. They're not quite in-sync the way they normally are. But perhaps only someone like Rachel who lives for the beat of the music, would notice that everything is just a half-step, a half-swaying arm off. There's also an edge of panic that undermines Kurt's normal glee when he finally speaks.

"Word is that that your male counterpart hasn't been seen for _days_. So when do we get the hand-engraved invitation from Vocal Adrenaline?"

Apparently, Friday, the weekend, and half of Monday count as "days". Rachel mentally rolls her eyes. Kurt's _way _off his game.

"Never, so far as I know."

For once, it's Mercedes who snorts.

"Girl, you _still_ crazy enough to believe he's sincere?"

For once, Rachel uses the response she should have used all along.

"I believe that he is _exactly_ as sincere as Santana's motives for dating Finn, Shelby Corcoran's motives for dating Mr. Schue and Sue Sylvester's motives for inviting you and Mercedes to join Cheerios."

"**Shelby Corcoran**?"

Rachel is aware that some mystical shield activates when she talks where only certain words and phrases penetrate the world around her. That doesn't stop her from offering the best advice they'll never take. Well, best advice for _her_ anyways.

"Perhaps," Rachel says gently, "you might want to consider why my decisions are so much more dangerous than everyone else's."

She thinks she hears a weak, "_Shelby Corcoran_?" and she _knows _that she must have been speaking in that special Rachel vocal range that no one except her can apparently hear or understand. Well, if they can't hear the _good_ stuff....

She really shouldn't. It's a terrible, no good, bad idea-

Rachel transitions into Innocence with A Touch of Melancholy Version 3.1. "It's so sad about Jesse, though."

Of course they hear _that_ just fine.

"So something _is_ up with his whitebread ass."

Rachel demurely lowers her eyes.

"Well, of course you know his parents are in Bali. It seems..."

She gives Quick Sigh Fourteen, not missing Kurt's flash of irritation. It's really tempting to turn it into Long Sigh Twenty-Two, but she thinks that even they might catch on at that point.

"It seems that the move is permanent. Since Jesse's scholarship is guaranteed, he thinks that this will be a marvelous opportunity to gain international polish and connections if he finishes out his year there."

Mercedes seems to be wavering between an odd combination of skepticism and rapacious curiosity. They're on the line, she can tell. Honestly, she's surprised they've swallowed this much.

"I only found out because I wanted to co-ordinate our schedules for the next week. He... he announced that we should stop seeing one another in the line for Lima Community Theatre's production of 'Brings in 'Da Noise, Bring in 'Da Funk'!

And she's got them. Because what is more predictable than Rachel Berry being utterly humiliated by the guy that she's interested in?

"I... " her voice drops so that they unconsciously lean forwards like twin vultures. "I really liked him."

Her breath catches and that is part of the plan. It _is_.

"So what do I do now?"

She's still acting.

She has to be.

If only someone, anyone would be willing to answer that question.

When she doesn't hear "Shelby", she feels an entirely unexpected burst of... something. Even if it started as acting, even if she doesn't care about what they think about her, having someone to talk to who's not after her soul would be-

They're gone.

Mercedes and Kurt have completely forgotten her existence in their hurry to share her pain with the world. Rachel clinically notes that their power-hustle out of the auditorium is perfectly inline with one another. She totally deserves some kind of humanitarian award for consistently uniting the gleeks in their desire to see her humiliated.

Surely there must be _something _from her Musical of the Day that will remind her why she ever wanted to care about these people's opinions? She quickly hums the first line that appears in her mind.

"_There's a girl who no one sees/ There's a girl who's left alone._"

Rachel thinks that maybe she needs to re-evaluate her choice in inspiring musicals.

The thing is, Rachel _knows _that the gleeks can be good friends... to one another. She isn't quite ready to think yet about why they could never be one to _her_.

(And maybe, if she thinks about Tina's Stuttergate and Mercedes' Weightgate and Kurt's Gaygate and Artie's Artiegate she can see that it doesn't take much for them to turn on one another either.)

(The thing is though- they turn _back_.)

xXx

"You told them I moved to Bali."

Rachel smiles weakly.

"Yay tropics?"

It only occurred to Rachel _after_ her moment of insight, that she had not only lied, but lied in a huge dramatic "Music Man" kind of way. This was not made better by a very-not-unconscious Jesse showing up in the auditorium so that he could tell her about some of the classes he'd already found for her, apparently willing to pretend that Sunday otherwise never happened.

It took Rachel approximately thirty seconds to blurt out the whole sorry mess.

She fidgets nervously under Jesse's all-too penetrating stare.

"That's... brilliant! Even given my level of talent and execution, it would have been difficult for me to come up with something so ridiculous and yet so appealing to the mouthbreathers who populate McKinley."

Rachel bites her lip, still mortally embarrassed. "But someone's going to check it out, Jesse. I knew that we needed to deal with your student status, but like this... How can we possibly make this look real?"

Jesse's smile is reassuring on more than one level. "Don't worry- I'll take care of it. It's better than the tragic accident that Shel- that _I _had planned on anyways."

Despite how amazingly well he is taking this, Rachel has much larger concerns with the way she's behaved.

"I don't understand though, Jesse."

"I pride myself on my honesty, particularly when it comes to those aspects of myself that are both grating and essential to my future success. I am manipulative but only in pursuit of a larger goal, which is why none of this makes sense! I don't care what they think of me and I don't want them to like me. Then they start talking and a part of me wants to toy with them like I'm a cat and not one who sings 'Memory' either!"

"What's happening to me, Jesse?"

"Personally, I think that it's a marvelous sign. Every good diva should know how to toy with her audience! Honestly Rachel, if the worst thing you do when you no longer care is condemn your ex to Bali, I don't think that you have anything to worry about."

If Jesse's smile is a little strained, Rachel pretends not to notice.

She can't afford to.

xXx

After lunch Rachel sends Jesse to the infirmary. Literally.

"I don't care if I am supposed to use my, admittedly limited, social skills to pretend that yesterday didn't happen. You still look like well..."

"Hell?"

Rachel rolls her eyes. "You really need to work on your comedic repertoire, but yes. Which means that you are going to go lie down in a nice bed until I finish my extra-curricular activity this afternoon."

Surprisingly, Jesse doesn't protest, which Rachel takes to mean that either he's feeling a lot worse than he's letting on or he's planning something that she really doesn't want to know about. Either way, it's with a clear conscience that Rachel leaves him at the door to the infirmary and heads to Math.

The afternoon passes quickly because Rachel can admit, if only to herself, that she's rather excited about giving some of the other clubs a chance for more than yearbook photos. Her first club might seem like a bit of challenge to integrate, but she has every confidence that she will rise to the occasion.

After all, what could possibly be misinterpreted about her presence in the Black Students Union?

While Rachel spent slightly more time in the club last year, her only presence this year was for the initial signup in the BSU dedicated room. She knows that the club must have changed since last year since all the members except for her were, well, Seniors. Their sponsor takes a completely handsoff approach and so it is remarkably likely that she will be the only person there. But even if she is actually the only member, it is certainly one group that Figgins would never dare disband and, if nothing else, she will have a quiet room in which to work on her plans.

Her first indication that something is off is when she opens the door and is greeted by an entire table full of every refreshment and snack food known to man. As she turns her head to see the widescreen television, full-size couch and state of the art gaming system, she realizes that something is very, very wrong. That's before the lump on the couch she assumed was a particularly unusual body pillow snaps upright and meets her eyes.

xXx

"You!"

_"You!"_

"..."

"You can speak?"

xXx

Rachel is very aware that Matt Rutherford does not want her there. Perhaps it was the "What the hell are you doing here?"

Or maybe the "_Fuck_."

Or maybe the followup, "Don't tell me the male you is gonna pop out of your suitcase."

Rachel chooses to only answer the last query, because _someone's _obviously not in the text tree. And because it's sort of somewhere between her lie and the truth, enough that she won't get in trouble-

"He's having a personal crisis."

Mainly that he can't wear clothing and is sprouting horns, but she thinks that may fall under the category of unnecessary information.

She _is _learning this socialization thing.

Unfortunately, that only makes Matt scowl harder. "So what, you're going to pretend to be black while your boyfriend's busy?"

Rachel meets his gaze unflinchingly. "My Daddy is African-American. Would you like a blood test?"

For nearly the first time when dealing with the cruelty at McKinley, Rachel is witness to a remorseful facial expression. She almost doesn't recognize it until Matt speaks.

"Fuck, I'm sorry Berry. I'm just used to having this all to myself and I thought you were making up stuff to horn in on a pretty sweet set-up. I know that being surprised isn't an excuse for being a dick, but I _was_. Both surprised and a dick."

"Believe me, I am just as surprised to learn that you are capable of human-audible speech. I had a theory that you were communicating in ultrasound."

Shaking her head to rid herself of the image, she continues. "I have to admit that I don't remember this room looking like, well this, when I took my initial club tour."

Matt shrugs.

"What I know is that Figgins was looking for more money and must of applied on every single thing that ever existed. I think he ended up getting some weird grant to, like, promote black culture outside cities or something."

Rachel stares at the room and then at Matt and then back at the room.

"So black culture is Xbox and Red Bull?"

Matt blushes. "I was the rep for the club, 'cause well I _am _the club. I might have, um... helped him understand my deep cultural roots and stuff."

Rachel looks at Matt in an entirely new light.

"Have you ever considered a career in theatre?"

"No."

Well, that has a slightly chilling effect on the conversation. Rachel mentally places 'theatre' on her list of socially inappropriate topics like 'I am talented and you are not', 'Why is the class hamster sleeping in a plastic bag?' and 'Sex- not just for boys!'

They stare at each other warily for a few moments before Matt breaks the silence.

"Wanna play Call of Duty?"

"Sure."

xXx

"Strafe _outside_, you ignoramus! _Outside_!"

"Fuck! I'm on it, Berry!"

Dimly, Rachel wonders if she should have mentioned that her fathers think that the best way to maintain pacifism is to transfer violent desires to such outlets as first person shooters.

"Are you trying to aggro, you _**blubbering cretin**_?"

Eh. She thinks that he'll figure it out.

xXx

"Dude, what you did to that one base? I'm never going to be able to eat pizza again."

Brief silence.

"That was _fucking awesome_."

Rachel smiles, a totally unplanned and unacted grin.

"Well yes, I _schooled your ass_. And everyone else's asses, for that matter. It was a regular educational institute!"

Matt's still got this wide-eyed look of awe. "We totally need to do that again. I've never got that kind of score before. _Ever_."

Rachel's not sure what thought crossed his mind, but suddenly he's not smiling anymore. _Really _not smiling anymore.

"Look Berry, you're not going to go Swim Fan on my ass now, are you?"

Rachel freezes in place, trying to determine if she'd just heard that right. Looking over at Matt and his wary, expectant expression, Rachel realizes that not only did she hear that, but that he _actually wants to know_.

Since Rachel is literally incapable of registering the gut-wrenching shock of this wholly unexpected suckerpunch, her mind starts logically dissecting how and where Matt, on the basis of _no_ previous personal interaction, would have gotten this idea. She knows that she's been enthusiastic in public, particularly with Finn, but certainly not to the point where one could be genuinely scared of Swim Fan level awfulness. Which means that someone he trusts called her 'Swim Fan'.

It's not exactly a hard process of elimination.

For Matt to put more weight on it than the normal transsexual rumors, it must come from someone who would actually have reason to know. Which means one of her two non-demonic exes.

Well, she knows that Puck's chosen endearment is to tell people that she makes him want to light himself on fire. Therefore Finn must be 'Swim Fan'.

She really needs better taste in ex-boyfriends.

Not that it matters.

Matt just spent several hours with Rachel in a room with refreshments, a wide-screen t.v. and the most expensive gaming system known to man. Even in a teenage boy's paradise, the bond created by graphically destroying hordes of post-Communist Russians was not enough to try to view her as an actual person.

Rachel mentally shrugs.

Because honestly?

It really is his loss.

She doesn't say anything as she grabs her things and heads to the door, but she pauses before she enters the hallway. She really did have a good time, so she thinks that maybe giving him something to think about is only a fair return.

"You have nothing to worry about. I'm tired of liking people who hate me."

As dramatic exits go, it probably isn't up there with such classics as Rachel Berry Uses Her Hips As Deadly Weapons and The Room Is Watching And So Is The Hallway, but somehow when she feels Jesse's arm settle over her shoulders two steps later, Rachel thinks that she may actually like this one best.

Almost unconsciously, she hums the same refrain on repeat as they make their way to the car. Because even with an inspiring guerilla musical production, sometimes you just need the Stones.

_"You can't always get what you want,/ __But if you try sometimes you just might find/_

_You get what you need."_

xXx

"So what classes are offered Mondays that would flesh out my repertoire?"

"The club was that bad?"

"..."

"I'll find something violent."

xXx

Rachel normally doesn't carry her musical of the day over to her MySpace, but she thinks that today might be a worthy exception. She had been fine after the burst of adrenaline from leaving the school, but as the afternoon wore on... She's just so... so tired.

"_I need a place where I can hide,/ Where no one sees my life inside_,"

She can feel Jesse step up behind her, the hand that runs through her hair as he finds a harmony underneath her. She knows that she likes it too much. She can't ever forget that it's only make believe.

"_Where I can make my plans, and write them down/ So I can read them._"

All her plans and plans within plans and color-coded addendums seem to be incapable of dealing with the reality of _people_. And maybe she wouldn't care so much if they were capable of dealing with the reality of _her_.

"_A place where I can bid my heart be still/ And it will mind me._"

It occurs to Rachel that in all her brilliance at wishing to not-care about McKinley, she had forgotten that that didn't mean not-caring in general. That, even while she doesn't want their good opinion, she can't help but wonder what it is about her that causes them to keep attacking her over and over again.

"_A place where I can go when I am lost,/ And there I'll find me._"

There has to be somewhere where she can stop having to defend herself. Just somewhere where she can... rest. G-d, she wants to be able to rest.

When she plays back the video before uploading, she numbly notes that she sounds really, really good. Jesse's harmony also sounds good, but she supposes that she's the only one who will ever know.

Jesse, for once, is not commenting or doing much of anything except watching her with a disturbingly neutral expression. It's easy enough to pretend that he's just another piece of furniture as she gets ready for bed and collapses underneath the covers.

As she drifts to sleep, Rachel could swear that she hears Jesse singing quietly, almost too low to hear. The words wash over her, faint and scattered, destined to disappear by morning.

"_Come to my garden/ Rest there in my arms._"

xXx

**Help please!**

The following is a plea for canon information. Based on Rachel and Puck's near week-long relationship in Mash-up covering two practices (starts just after the practice that mash-ups are assigned, then includes the Thursday that Puck chooses Glee over football and one in between where he sings Sweet Caroline), I'm assuming that Glee has two practices a week- Thursday and probably Tuesday since football practice always seems to be the day after Glee. If I've somehow missed some other canon indicator of days or number of practices please let me know while I can still re-write bits and fanwank things into workability! Also, did anybody see _what_ Care Bear Rachel had in the Madonna episode? I'm trying to remember if I just missed the scene or if I can give her the Care Bear I want her to have picked out.

Any and all comments welcomed and appreciated!

_Updated May 9, 2010_


	4. Chapter 4: Closing Doors, Closing Mouths

**Author's Notes**: Long chapter is _long_. Also, _trust me_. You might not like me very much, but please, _trust me_. A big part of the delay in this chapter was a snag in my original sketch (I've actually got the ending of the story written and skeletons for pretty much everything else), where I couldn't find a canon character to serve the purpose I needed. As a personal preference, I prefer to limit named original characters in my fanfiction so it was really driving me nuts. All I have to say is- God bless Sue Sylvester and her throwaway lines. So yup, the character is canonical, just probably not at all like what Ryan Murphy has in mind :)

I also want it to be very clear that although certain aspects of this story are inspired by Jewish cultural stories and supernatural themes, as well as themes from a variety of other backgrounds, they are _not_ a faithful representation of these themes and no offense is intended with my reinterpretation.

**Thank you**:To the amazing people who helped me with my Glee trivia issues- my beta isn't familiar with Glee, so you guys are life savers. A special thank you to **Chamberlin of Music** who shared some brilliant, thoughtful ideas about Rachel's potential Care Bear. To all of you who reviewed, favourited and put this story on alert- I consider this story a conversation and you letting me know what you think or what worked for you really helps me improve my side of the conversation. And, since they wish to remain anonymous, but I want to thank them anyways, a huge thank you to my awesome beta without whom this story would be completely rather than mostly unreadable.

**Warnings**: Rated M for language, violence and suggestive sexy fun-times. Sort-of-spoilers for "Home", but not really. Don't expect episode fidelity from here on out.

**Disclaimer**: Glee, 'The Art of War', 'High Noon', 'Pride and Prejudice' and Jewish proverbs do not belong to me, alas.

**Quick Definitions**: 'Mame' or 'mameh' means 'mother' or 'mommy' and 'Bubbe' is similarly 'Granny' in Yiddish. Gehenna is the place of spiritual purification for the wicked dead in Judaism, a site at the greatest possible distance from heaven. There are some major differences from the Christian hell though - the period of purification or punishment is limited to only 12 months and every Shabbat is excluded from punishment. After this the soul will ascend to _Olam Ha-Ba_, the world to come, or will be destroyed if it is severely wicked. The _Kol HaNe'arim_ (literally 'all the children') is where, during Simchat Torah, all the children are called to the front and a talit (a Jewish prayer shawl) is spread over their heads while a blessing over the Torah is pronounced. In more conservative congregations, only boys are called, but since _two gay dads_, I'm assuming Rachel goes to a Reform Temple. I'm also going to take creative license and pretend that the ark in this Temple is close enough to the front for it to be near where this is taking place, m'kay?

_Illegitimi non carborundum _is mock-Latin meaning 'don't let the bastards grind you down'.

**Chapter Summary**: She's _done._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 4: Closing Doors, Closing Mouths**

_When you open a door, don't forget to close it. Treat your mouth accordingly._

-Jewish Proverb

_**Thursday? What is this 'Thursday' you speak of?**_

"Why are we in a closet?"

"_We _aren't in a closet. I have no idea why you followed me but, get out! Get out! And _close the door_!"

Rachel frantically pushes at Puck. She has seconds, minutes at the most, before they find her. Unfortunately, Puck's lovely arms, legs and chest seem to weigh about as much as the elephant at the zoo she had once tried to make move. The result is very similar. Well, except for the fact that Puck doesn't poop on her.

Rachel has a split second decision to make- run for a new hiding place or brave the closet with Puck?

A flash of knee socks in the crowd makes her decision for her.

She reaches frantically for the door, but Puck is somehow between her and her objective.

"Whoa Berry, what's got your panties in a knot?"

His face suddenly clouds thunderously. "Some asshole giving you problems?"

His face clouds even more thunderously. "Or giving you _hickies_?"

Rachel honestly isn't paying much attention because she is far too busy scanning the crowd behind Puck. Her frantic checking only confirms her worst fears.

It's too late.

They've spotted her.

There is a momentary pause where they seem to be marshalling their courage.

But now... Now...

The one with the cardigan is advancing.

Rachel turns, her last desperate stand filling her with righteous indignation. "This," she hisses up at Puck, "is _all your fault._"

xXx

After the emotional rollercoaster of Monday, it doesn't take long after waking on Tuesday for Rachel to realize that she has to focus on other aspects of her plan. Considering how frighteningly exhausted and dispirited she has been, even with the benefit of the wishes, she can't afford any more nasty surprises. She has decided that rather than one club a day she will attempt one club a week and instead put a more urgent aspect of her longterm planning into play.

Rachel knows, far better than she should, that being the best isn't _enough._ If she can thank Glee for anything, it is this knowledge that now drives her next set of plans. The fact of the matter is, with her remaining clubs likely to be equally as awful as her first experience, she is going to need excellent references. Her professional references she will accomplish with talent and discipline, but her academic references are going to need a little more... finesse.

It is an urgent enough problem that she has skipped the elliptical entirely. Instead she has gathered the three resources she will need: curling up at the head of her bed with her binder, her daytimer and her Jesse seated casually across from her.

"So who do _you_ think that I should approach at McKinley for a reference?"

"Mr. Schuester?"

She's fairly sure that she has Jesse's full attention, despite what his hands are doing. By now she thinks that folding his penis into a variety of shapes is simply an unconscious habit.

She just really wishes that he was a nailbiter instead.

Shaking her head, both in response and to not look at... was that a _giraffe_? She bites out her answer a little more sharply than she had intended.

"Absolutely not. He would probably consider it a 'character growth' experience for me to tell the committee how I was a terrible teammate and unable to work constructively within the group."

Jesse frowns and moves his hands to frame Rachel's face. "Hold that face! You need to memorize that look of bitterness and world-weariness for your breakout role as Jafar once they finally make 'Aladdin- The We're Running out of Back Catalogue Musical'."

Rachel thwacks him with her Strawberry Shortcake daytimer before blushing. "I'm being ridiculous, aren't I?"

Jesse's impish grin doesn't exactly reassure her. "Probably not, but honestly, I've only seen looks like that in Disney movies."

"Yes well, Mr. Schue makes me sympathize with Disney villains so..."

She shrugs. "Regardless, I have to find some appropriate academic references who will enhance rather than hurt my admissions process."

Jesse strikes a pose very much like 'The Thinker' except that Rachel is pretty sure that the thinker wasn't using his other hand to play with his penis. Or maybe he was. Rachel has never been sure about statuary. It appears to do the trick though. Jesse looks smugly satisfied, which means that he's thinking of either an idea or himself.

"Why don't we run through your teachers by subject and work through any obvious vetoes?"

It's not exactly earth-shattering but Jesse looks so proud of himself, Rachel doesn't have the heart to contradict him. She briskly nods and Jesse leans forwards in interrogation mode.

"History?"

Rachel winces.

"She was the official, non-Coach Sylvester sponsor for Celibacy Club."

Jesse quirks an eyebrow. "So?"

Rachel tries very, very hard to look innocent. "I might have um... accidentally killed Celibacy Club?"

Jesse's got this _look_ on his face and Rachel can't help start babbling. "It's not my fault! Not really! How was I to know that Coach Sylvester bugged the rooms- I thought it was still fine after I left. And really, it was just a speech about female empowerment and taking control of our sexuality! I would never have known if I hadn't contested the B+ on my paper on Artistic Freedom in Communist China!"

"And?"

Rachel really doesn't like Jesse's slowly growing smile. "They-kind-of-blame-me-for-Quinn's-pregnancy."

She winces again. "Well me and the shocking lack of sexual education emphasized by such ineffectively pro-abstinence fundamentalist fronts like the Celibacy Club."

Jesse's playing with his penis again. Rachel really, really hopes that it's subconscious.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't Miss Fabray already pregnant by the time you gave your inspirational inducement to fornication?"

Rachel's eyes slowly widen.

"You... You jerk! You already knew all about it! And you made me talk about it anyways!"

Just before she throws her binder at him, something makes her pause. "Wait... what makes you think Quinn was pregnant before then?"

Jesse shrugs. "In my line of work baby deals come up pretty often, which means sticking it out for nine months of jellied stomachs. The earliest you can tell the sex of a baby with any accuracy is at four and a half months."

Rachel can see spots passing in front of her eyes, and not because Jesse's obviously been spying on her for far longer than she could have imagined. "It was never about me. It was never about my stupid obsession with Finn and him running between us. It happened in the summer. It was never about _me_."

Rachel knows that this doesn't excuse her own shortcomings, but the poison that was sitting in the back of her mind, dark and insidious, drains so suddenly that she feels lightheaded.

"Well maybe not for _Quinn_."

It's so quiet that Rachel is sure that she must have misheard Jesse and since what she thinks he said makes _absolutely_ _no sense_, she decides that ignorance is the better part of happiness. Especially since Jesse seems to just be smiling blandly and smoothly continues before she can think on it anymore.

"Math?"

"I corrected five answers on our last test just at the moment that the school superintendent stopped in to do a classroom tour."

"Chemistry?"

"My partner set the lab bench on fire while trying to pour chemicals down my shirt and blamed me."

"English?"

"I discussed the homosexual undertones in 'Of Mice and Men' and he thought that I was promoting pseudo-incest. Or sex with rabbits. There was too much spit for me to completely understand."

"Biology?"

"I looked for information on where we were getting our dissection materials from in order to make sure the source was as humane as possible. Apparently one of Principal Figgins' budget saving measures involved importing frogs from an exotic animal smuggling ring."

She winces.

"Armed federal agents stormed the lab."

Jesse's just staring at her and there's something like pride or... fondness? Rachel dismisses the thought as soon as it occurs- she's quite aware of Jesse's formidable acting abilities.

"Okay, _why _aren't you in private school?"

It's obvious that he's half-seriously joking, but it is an unfortunate sore point and Rachel can't quite manage a Smile of Indifference with her reply. "My fathers thought that it wasn't a good idea to encourage my stunted and inappropriate social skills."

She can't look at him and instead bends her head over her binder, trying hard to stop her traitorous eyes from itching. "It's hopeless, isn't it?"

She nearly falls off her bed in shock when Jesse's hands appear on either side of her face, holding her in place so that she meets his suddenly serious eyes.

"Rachel, just because they're not _enough_, doesn't mean that you have to be _less_. You're not thinking about this the right way. Admittedly, you don't have my exceptional skill and natural abilities in the necessary arts, but you _know_ what you need to do. What does 'The Art of War' say?"

Rachel's eyes widen in sudden understanding. "_If you know both yourself and your enemy, you can win a hundred battles without a single loss._"

There's something else from 'The Art of War', something she needs to remember-

"Precisely. You know yourself. So now you need to know your enemy. How else did you deal with Sandy Ryerson?"

Rachel is dazed.

It's so obvious.

"I need to know about them. What they like, what interests them, how to best approach them and get on their good side-"

"-how to blackmail them if necessary."

Rachel glares at Jesse. He shrugs, sporting a completely unrepentant grin. "What? It's a tool."

Rachel decides to surprise him and lets Grin of Devious Planning Number 69 slowly spread over her face. "Actually, it's just that it's too much work over the long term. Much easier to keep them under control if you have a single strike or a long term campaign where they grow fond of you."

Jesse's staring at her as if he's never seen her before. His pupils are starting to dilate and his breath is coming deeper and harsher.

Rachel wonders if he's having a heart attack.

She guesses not because he manages to speak, even if his voice breaks midway.

"_AN_-yways, so you want me to do some research? Stake out the enemy? I can use my fabulous spying and data acquisition abilities to spend the day seeing what I can dig up."

Rachel swallows the lump in your throat. "You'd do that? Really? It... wouldn't cost me anything?"

"Hey," and his whole face softens as he tilts her chin up towards him. "Acting in your best interests, right?"

"Can I-" She can't bear to look at him, but she _needs _this.

"Can I get a hug too?"

Her eyes sting as she feels his arms wrap around her without even a moment of hesitation. She thinks though that she must be imagining the roughness of his voice as he leans into her ear.

"Hugs are always free."

Just sitting there in his arms Rachel feels safe in a way she doesn't think she's ever known.

She can't allow that.

Trying very hard to smile harmlessly and a little stupidly, she pushes off of both Jesse and the bed. She can't quite miss the way Jesse's face hardens momentarily before it... changes. Suddenly, he's off the bed and... gliding towards her. The way he's looking at her...

Rachel is afraid in a way that even bone-white claws couldn't inspire.

He stops in front of her, so close that Rachel feels _her _temperature rise from _his _heat. His voice is as smooth as his walk, but with something dark that eats away all of the security she had felt before.

"Hugs might be free, but there are so many other... pleasurable activities in this world."

He's so close.

G-d, _why is he so close_?

"I know you, Rachel. You want _everything_."

His fingers.

They're only barely touching her skin.

How can he _do_ that?

Her arm has _never _felt like that before.

"Why should you deny yourself?"

His lips.

They're coming closer, brushing her chin, her cheek, her ear...

"You going to give me your wish, darling?"

She shakes off the pinpricks of sensation where his fingers (his lips) touched her, but can't help backing up a step or two. "N-no."

Jesse's smile is impossible to read as he leans into her, his lips faintly tracing the shell of her ear. "Let me know if you change your mind."

He pulls back abruptly, sauntering towards the door in a way that makes it impossible for her to look away.

Barbra, he's good at making her believe he's-

And then she remembers.

She remembers the verse from 'The Art of War' that she had forgotten. Staring at Jesse as he, for once, opens the door, she mouths silently, "_All warfare is based on deception_."

And the door closes.

xXx

Jesse's gone by the time Rachel is able to bring herself to leave the room.

Rachel realizes how used she is already to having someone to talk to when she catches herself every few minutes turning over her shoulder to direct some thought or comment to Jesse.

This only deepens the sinking sensation in the depths of her stomach.

She knew that he wanted her to make her third wish.

She just didn't know how far he was willing to go in order to achieve that.

The worst of it is, she's starting to expect him. To expect his comments, his casual touches, even his unspeakably awful tendency to hum 'Raise a Little Hell' in his sleep. She can't let expectation become need.

It's hard.

Her fathers love her, but sometimes the deep, poisonous part of herself thinks that she became less interesting, less desirable to be around the more she grew up. She knows it's just that they trust her to manage herself and that there is an entire country that needs their services and they are always interested in her on their phone calls but...

Nobody touches her affectionately.

And G-d, everytime Jesse casually wraps an arm around her shoulders or flicks her nose or curls up at her back, she's almost willing to promise him anything, anything at all, if he'll keep doing it.

She can never let him know.

"_The clever combatant imposes her will on the enemy, but does not allow the enemy's will to be imposed on her._"

Her smile is grim, but determined.

Today it seems that the guerilla musical will be a little lacking in chorus, instrumentation or even notes. But she can't imagine entering McKinley in this mood with anything less than 'The Art of War' as her companion.

She may never find that quiet place where she can rest and be herself, but by G-d, she's going to climb so high that all they'll taste is stardust.

xXx

As Rachel strides up to the doors of McKinley, she can practically feel the tumbleweeds rolling past her. It almost makes her regret not wearing her denim skirt and suede cardigan. Almost.

As she throws open the doors she can't help muttering, "If you're honest you're poor your whole life and in the end you wind up dying all alone on some dirty street. For what? For nothing. For a tin star."

She realizes that she probably needs to cut back on her secret vice of late night Western re-runs, particularly since she suspects that it is affecting her acting decisions. She can't help but smile anyways. "No worries Marshal, I'm _done_ with tin stars. Only gold from here on out."

It almost disappoints her that none of the people on her to-be-avoided list are there for her to confront. She _really _wants a confrontation.

"_Though we have heard of stupid haste in war, cleverness has never been seen associated with long delays._"

Unfortunately delays are inevitable because, well, G-d hates her, and for the first time in well, ever, nobody who makes her blood pressure soar appears before she has to go to class. Rachel eventually gives up and works on some material for her private lesson that evening, with much sullenness. How is she supposed to conquer McKinley when the opposing armies won't even show?

The fact that she keeps seeing flashes of the Cheerios uniform out of the corner of her eye she puts down to massive paranoia, rather than a potential source of confrontation.

Because G-d hates her, and hated her even before she started watching Jesse make his penis into a palm tree, the morning is painfully dull. Her only potential confrontation comes at the end of second period and it is so utterly bizarre that Rachel has no idea what prompted it, even before it is cut abruptly short.

Shortly after English, where she keeps her head down and avoids making eye contact with the teacher or Tina or Kurt, Rachel is startled by someone grasping the sleeve of her dancing penguin sweater.

Since Rachel has been so busy trying not to draw the teacher's attention until she has worked out a plan of attack, she had no idea that Tina wanted to speak to her. She thinks, more than a little coldly, that it's very unusual for Tina to be the one to deliver the usual threats and publicly at that.

That's before Tina actually starts talking.

After an awkward exchange of greetings and comments on the assignment, Tina starts moving her hands back and forth in some kind of pattern, opening and closing her mouth at least three times before the words finally come.

"My grandfather was at Temple and h-h-he said y-y-you..."

Tina makes a strange little gesture with her hands while staring at Rachel in mute appeal.

Rachel is starting to get a little concerned. Tina only brings out the stutter now when she's nervous and the precipitous ending to her sentence isn't exactly filling Rachel with warmth and rainbows. Tina hasn't gone to Temple in years and her mother only attends infrequently, so Rachel has no idea why sweet, elderly Mr. Cohen would see any reason to bring up Rachel to his family.

She smiles in what she hopes is a reassuring manner- it is in fact a blend of Reassurance 4 and Non-Threatening 2 (work in progress). "He said I?"

"Tina!"

Kurt is standing a few feet over, his arms crossed, tapping his foot.

"We have to go do that _thing_."

Tina blinks. "Thing?"

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Yes, the _thing_."

Tina strangely, looks a little bit embarrassed, and won't meet Rachel's eyes as she mumbles. "Oh that thing. S-s-sorry R-r-r-achel, I've got to go."

Rachel stands there for a few moments, trying to figure out what just happened. She shakes her head briskly and wonders if the reason why everyone thinks that she is crazy is because they are all _completely insane_.

She shrugs. It's all just more information for her tactics development. After all, she needs to remember that, '_As water retains no constant shape, so in warfare there are no constant conditions._'

Even so, she's fairly sure that Sun Tzu never had to deal with Kurt.

As bizarre as her encounter with Tina is, it precipitates what she has been waiting for all day- a series of showdowns.

_None_ of which work out the way she expected.

But what is the purpose of tactical maneuvering except to turn misfortune into gain?

If only she could be sure that she actually _wants _what she gained.

xXx

Her first confrontation comes at the very beginning of lunch. The only unexpected aspect of it is that it took _this long_ to happen. After all, if there is one constant in Rachel's life it is Jacob Ben Israel's ability to lock on to her location like a particularly advanced piece of military equipment.

She's staring blankly at her locker, trying to decide whether to go to the auditorium or the music room since she seems to be without Jesse, when she feels the slime oozing in her direction. Sure enough a quick pivot brings her face to face with a disturbingly enthusiastic Jacob.

"Word on the street is-"

So much for a desire for confrontation. There is no way that Rachel is going to let him continue.

"Is this the same street that houses the polling company for your Dockers? Because I'm not interested in hearing about _anything_ from there."

Rachel spins on her heel, hoping to make a fast exit. Courage and military tactics be damned. Sun Tzu had _clearly_ never planned for hormonal, obsessive, stalkeresque Jewish nerds.

"You're dating Noah Puckerman!"

Rachel pivots back so fast she almost gets whiplash.

"_What_?"

Jacob's eyes are glinting in a disturbingly enthusiastic way.

"Mommy could speak of nothing but your sordid display at Temple. Is this why Jesse St. James really left? Because you were doing the horizontal mambo with them both at once? Or maybe you were doing them together and-"

Jacob's panting and turning red and-

No.

Just no.

Confrontation is _go_.

"Jacob," Rachel says flatly. Amazingly he closes his mouth, even if he's leaning in a little closer than she would like.

"Do you remember my seventh birthday at the Jewish Community Centre?"

Jacob's mouth is still closed, even if he looks puzzled whilst nodding. Rachel should have tried this earlier.

"What did I do at the Jewish Community Centre for my seventh birthday?"

"A routine where you were dressed in a star-spangled skirt that showed off your already delectable legs."

Well he remembers. And _ewww_...

Rachel bravely soldiers on.

"And what happened?"

"You did something with chairs, a piece of fruit and a baton and then-"

She can see the moment that he _really_ remembers what happened.

"And then?"

"And then Puck picked up the piece of fruit you'd tossed into the audience, threw it at you so that you lost hold of the baton, you tripped over the chairs and the entire audience saw your Elmo underpants."

"And do you know how long it took for the JCC crew to stop calling me 'Tickle Me Rachel?'"

Jacob blinks. "Until last Wednesday?"

Rachel's lips tilt up in a grim smile. "Exactly."

She steeples her fingers together and is pleased when Jacob actually takes a step backwards. "Simchat torah. Eleven years old. When the _Kol HaNe'arim _was called out."

Jacob actually winces. "The reason the Puckermans aren't allowed to attend Simchat torah until Puck moves to another continent?"

Rachel's smile is more a baring of teeth. "And why is that?"

"Because when they were placing the talit, Puck said it looked like your skirt and he wanted to see if your panties were just as ugly and flipped up your skirt knocking you forward and ultimately making all of us fall like dominoes until someone knocked the eternal light into the ark."

Rachel and Jacob both simultaneously flinch.

"And then everything was on fire."

Rachel is momentarily distracted because she realizes that a surprising number of stories involving Puck end that way, but she realizes that she needs to make her point irrefutably.

"And when did Rabbi Greenburg stop making stupid jokes about how good little Jewish girls need to be careful not to light the flame of love without the fire extinguisher of faithful morals?"

A bead of sweat rolls down Jacob's forehead.

"Er... my Mom told me that one at dinner yesterday."

Rachel takes a deep breath. She really, really doesn't want to bring up the next one, but it's not as if it is not already known to the entire world. She wonders how much worse it would be to say this out loud if she hadn't made her wish. She hopes that Jacob doesn't notice the slight tremor in her voice when she speaks.

"Fifteen. First day of Freshman year. First few steps into McKinley."

Unlike her other scenarios, Jacob looks well pleased to be remembering this one. His voice is dripping with smugness when he replies.

"It was what awakened me to how well you would please me physically once we started getting it on."

Well, one more thing to thank Puck for.

She makes a mental note to put her plan for Jacob into operation sooner rather than later.

Jacob's got an incredibly disturbing smile on his face as he continues reminiscing.

"I was fortunate enough to be standing near the door and have never been more grateful that G-d chose me to be in the right place at the right time. So you walk into the school and throw yourself-"

"I. Tripped."

Jacob takes one look at her face and noticeably whitens before hastily correcting himself.

"You tripped onto Puck, knocking both of you to the ground, where you grabbed his-"

"_**I accidentally landed**__-_"

Jacob backs up a step.

"You accidentally landed on his penis while exposing your incredibly luscious 'shooting star' panties to the entire hallway. Then Puck pushed you off and said, 'I know you're desperate for the Puckster, but Puck doesn't fuck crazy.'"

Rachel closes her eyes.

"And what then?"

"'The captain of the football team said, 'I don't care about crazy- I'll fix the chick who's begging for it.' Puck said, 'Nah, I'll cool her down,' grabbed someone's slushie and threw it in your face.'"

There's a detachment, as if she's asking these questions from across the vast void where all her hurt would lie.

"And what was the outcome?"

"The Cheerio captain thought you were willing to fornicate with her boyfriend when she wasn't and started drawing luscious pornographic pictures of you in the bathroom. The football captain told the school how awesome your wet bra was so he got Puck to start a regular routine of slushies in order to get on the team which led to more pictures in the bathroom and more conversation about how depraved and desperate you were."

Jacob perks up. "Did I mention how much I like depraved and desperate?"

Rachel tries not to think about that or about how... thorough Jacob's reporting skills are.

"So what is the common thread in all of these scenarios?"

"That Puck likes to see your underwear?"

Rachel will not scream. _She_ _will not scream_.

"That Puck has spent years _**making my life a living hell**_!"

Jacob is pressed spread-eagled against the nearest locker.

Huh.

Maybe that _was _a slightly inappropriate volume.

However, if Jacob is sufficiently terrorized her point is well made.

Unfortunately Rachel has reckoned without Jacob's Jacobness.

She really shouldn't be surprised after years of direct and empathetic rejection that merely yelling only delays his behavior for a few seconds. He's already sidled up towards her again, something that Rachel has classified as the Perverted Reporter gleam in his eyes.

"But you've _already_ dated Puck."

Yes. Because she was desperate for somebody, anybody to actually want her.

Well that and she'd had, much to her self-disgust, several very pleasurable evenings spent imagining him using that disgusting mouth of his for a much better purpose.

But she's hardly sharing that with Jacob.

"_Tactical maneuvering consists of turning the devious into the direct._"

It is possible to be both bluntly honest and _completely misleading_.

"Did you say something?"

Rachel blesses her ability to blush on command.

"I can't conceal anything from your keen sense of observation, can I? Well knowing my history with Puck, someone as intellectually gifted as yourself must realize that there was an ulterior motive to our relationship."

Jacob preens and lands right where Rachel wants him. Well, not where she really wants him, which would be anywhere that she isn't, but close enough.

"Of course I know! So er... what was the motive again?"

Rachel smiles the Soft Smile of Nobility and Martyrdom Twenty Three and One Eighth.

"Well, his mother really wanted him to date a Jewish girl..."

"_Oh_. That actually makes sense. Hey... My _mameh_-"

"Not going to happen."

And that should have been the end of it.

But apparently every time she thinks that Jacob can't go any lower she discovers that he's digging a hole to China.

"Oh I think it is. Tell me Rachel, how did people treat you when you were chasing after the boy with a pregnant girlfriend the _first _time? You barely survived that socially. A second time... Well, if you think pornographic pictures are as bad as it can get, you are adorably naive."

Rachel turns very slowly and speaks in the tone that her fathers would know Does Not Bode Well.

"And what, precisely, are you offering to do about it?"

Jacob smiles, apparently the many years of their acquaintance not allowing him to catch her undertones.

"I could be... persuaded not to make the information public, if you were willing to let the cashmere puppies out to play. At first. I might also want a few other trifling services-"

Rachel's voice is dangerously even.

"Let me see if I understand. You are threatening to publish false information so that the bullies at McKinley will rape me if I don't agree to sexually service you."

Too late, Jacob appears to realize that this isn't the Rachel he normally deals with. He gulps hard.

"T-that's not quite what I-"

Rachel raises her hand and he falls completely silent, his eyes growing wider and wider at whatever it is he sees in her eyes.

"For years, I tolerated this completely inappropriate and illegal behavior because I was afraid of what you might do to my already fragile reputation. But do you know what, _Jacob_?"

Jacob is actually trembling as he shakes his head.

Rachel grabs the collar of his shirt, as she pulls his face down to hers. "I. Don't. Care."

Rachel hadn't thought it was possible for someone's forehead to produce that much sweat. She can practically feel her eyes hardening into ice as she purrs, "And do you know what happens when I don't care?"

She doesn't give him a chance to do anything before she forms an entirely new smile for her repertoire, one of Feline Satisfaction while Toying with Ugly Mouse. "Your _mameh_ gets a whole _new_ story to tell in Temple after I make a tear-filled confession at the Daughters of Jerusalem kosher pickle tasting."

As Rachel shoves Jacob away from her she notices that the front of his pants is wet. Rachel refuses to think about which liquid is involved.

"T-they wouldn't believe you! Coming from a home with such perversion, everyone knows you have to be just as indec-"

He didn't.

He didn't just bring her fathers into this.

Rachel is completely calm as she moves towards him. She has no idea what he sees in her face, but he breaks off mid-sentence and presses himself into the locker behind him. She stops just short of him and her tone is conversational, almost friendly as she lets him see the images of his destruction in her eyes.

"Even if you erase every disgusting, filthy thing you ever posted, every perverted, invasive picture you ever took, I took the liberty of saving this information and taking web captures for the inevitable court case once I was able to leave Lima. You post so much as one innuendo, make one inappropriate, slanderous comment and _I will destroy you_."

She smiles.

Jacob lets out a high-pitched whimper and takes off with a strangely duck-like waddle-jog down the hallway.

Rachel's smile widens and she can't help muttering softly, "Run Jacob, run."

She lets out a gurgle of laughter as she realizes just how well she has been following 'The Art of War'.

"_She will win who, prepared herself, waits to take the enemy unprepared._"

Smug, satisfied and feeling remarkably self-congratulatory, Rachel turns to head to the auditorium when she notices that she has an audience.

There's a group of tiny Freshman girls, one with a Cheerios uniform no less, who are standing not very far from her and just... staring.

When they notice her one guiltily flips her phone closed and the rest of them continue to stare, their eyes growing impossibly wider.

Rachel mentally shrugs.

If someone wants to Youtube her verbally castigating Jacob she can't really see how that will make things any worse for her.

Unfortunately, she's only gotten halfway down the hallway when a strange prickling at the back of her neck causes her to spin around as quickly as possible.

They're still following her.

Rachel glares at them in the hopes that whatever power she had over Jacob holds over little girls as well, but instead of becoming scared the one in the Cheerios outfit actually squeals and says in a not-quite stage whisper, "She _looked _at me!"

There's something vaguely familiar about her and Rachel pales, remembering that the hallway when she staged her switch on Dave Karofsky was hardly empty. But surely she would have noticed a group of people intent on harassing her? Although considering that she spent most of Monday on evasive maneuvers...

Rachel suddenly bursts into laughter.

She really _is_ becoming paranoid. There's no way that there's some kind of new Freshman conspiracy to make her life a living hell. She's just not that important in the grand scheme of things at McKinley. If the worst that some McKinley babies can up with as their initiation is to follow her around and stare at her until they get bored, then she really has nothing to worry about.

So even though she can hear the pitter-patter of little feet behind her, she deliberately blocks it out as she thinks on far more serious subjects.

Her 'conversation' with Jacob has brought up all sorts of unpleasant memories, one of the worst of which is her first day at McKinley. She can blame Puck for initiating nearly everything in their long, painful history but that one has far more shades of grey than she would have ever shared with Jacob.

The thing is, she's pretty sure that the initial collision _wasn't_ deliberate. And she _knows _that it would have taken more talent and coordination than either of them possess for him to have somehow positioned her, without touching her, into the position she wound up in with her hand bracing herself on his penis. And it _really _wasn't his fault that her hand had unconsciously tightened once she realized who she had landed on. She hadn't understood –then- why there had been movement under her hand, why he had shuddered and stiffened and why her hand had been slightly damp when she was able to pull away. The thing is, after some experience with Finn 'hair trigger' Hudson, she understands. She understands that Puck was humiliated, that somehow on her very first day of school she had managed to put a shadow on his badassitude and make him involuntarily ejaculate within the space of less than a minute. She understands that he needed to do something huge in order to overcome all of this.

But it doesn't excuse him.

It doesn't excuse any of them.

She's not some sub-human punching bag that they can use to elevate themselves and bond over criticizing and humiliating. She's not some tool to use when it is convenient or when they're lonely or when they need to convince their mother that they're dating a Jewish girl. She may not be the most likable person. She's done things that are stupid in hindsight and definitely desperate with disastrous results. She can be selfish, irritating and frighteningly single-minded. None of which endears her to anyone. In fact, it is entirely possible that she is incapable of inspiring anyone to love her _enough_. But she doesn't deserve this.

She's _done._

"_On desperate ground, fight._"

And that's when someone grabs her and pulls her into the nearest classroom.

xXx

"You. _Of course_ it's you."

"Fuck Berry, you having fantasies about me abducting you and shit?"

...

"I can work with that."

xXx

"Um, _no._"

Rachel smiles, a little more fiercely than she was really aiming for, and starts edging towards the door. "Well Puck, as fun as this isn't, I've got places to go, people to hopefully not see."

Unfortunately Puck's guns appear to have a greater reach than her legs and the door, so close yet so far, closes in front of her, with Puck standing in front of it.

"You don't call me Puck."

Rachel isn't going to pretend this is about anything other than what it is.

"Well you didn't used to call me Berry."

He actually flinches and when he meets her eyes there's a strange vulnerability that puts a halt on her righteous indignation, at least until he opens his mouth. "I thought you forgave me for the slushies and stuff."

And Rachel's right back to furious.

"Well maybe it would be easier for you to stay forgiven if you would _stop using me_. Do you have any idea what my day has been like? Jacob Ben Israel attempted to use what you did in Temple to blackmail me into performing illicit sexual favors and – oh Celine- _that's_ what Tina was trying to ask me about and now there are little girls following me everywhere! If I didn't stop him fast enough doubtless everyone thinks that I'm the evil homewrecker once again trying pathetically to steal Quinn Fabray's man. Not that I care about them, but I'll never get my references that way! And with the literal hell I'm living through right now-"

Quickly catching herself before she starts saying something she shouldn't, Rachel moves back to the material point. "So yes _Puck,_ I'm sorry, G-d, I'm sorry that I didn't force someone else to break the news to Finn and that things are so chaotic and miserable for you right now, but I'm not your tool or your punching bag. I won't be a punching bag."

The last words are starting to waver a little and Rachel needs to leave _right now_. She won't let them see her cry. She'll _never _let them see her cry.

She doesn't want to look up at Puck- she's far too close to the edge of her control, but she needs to get through the door.

His face is completely drained of color and... are the rims of his eyes turning red?

To her amazement, he moves quickly, far too quickly, out of the way and she is out the door in seconds as it closes behind her with a decisive click.

It only occurs to her much later while sitting on the floor of the bathroom stall that she never did find out why he pulled her in in the first place.

xXx

Now that Rachel's aware of it, she notices that even between classes there is always some tiny girl just a few feet back, shadowing her as she goes down the hallway. She racks her brains to see if she can remember when this started, but honestly, Monday was such a disaster that she doubts she would have noticed if she tried. All she has to go on is that uncomfortable feeling she had after initiating the slushie war. She makes a mental note to put a lot more weight on her sixth sense. After all, what use is being a little bit psychic if you can't use it to dodge tiny, evil Cheerios?

Mainly though, thinking about Freshmen means that she doesn't have to think about Puck, who is becoming increasingly bothersome and who she is, perhaps unfairly, holding responsible for nearly every awful aspect of her school life (she is conveniently not thinking about gay dads or her own refusal to adopt a more demure, conventional persona). She is also pointedly not thinking about Jesse because if she does she'll miss him and this morning was exactly the stab in the gut that she needed as a reminder that getting attached to him is a _really bad idea_.

Unfortunately, not thinking about Jesse proves impossible because Rachel could swear that she once again sees him walking through the wall to Coach Sylvester's office, but she's willing to concede that her obsessive personality might possibly be leading to hallucinations.

She's so wrapped up in boys or demons or demonic boy-demon-boys –again- that it only occurs to her as her final class is ending that she has both Glee and vocal lessons to look forward to.

"Slow transition," she mutters to herself. "Slowly transition out of the spotlight so the focus can be on professional development rather than being the club donkey."

"_Pretend to be weak so that the enemy may grow arrogant._"

It is a good plan.

An _excellent _plan.

In fact there is probably an alternate universe in which no one is ever made aware of her swiftly changing view of the world.

Unfortunately, the first person she sees outside the auditorium is Kurt.

xXx

Rachel hasn't really thought that much on Tina's performance this morning in light of everything else that has happened today. Unluckily, or perhaps luckily, Kurt sees her approaching and after deliberately meeting her eyes, decides to clear up any of her misapprehensions in a loud conversation with an oblivious Tina.

"What were you _thinking_ trying to have a conversation with _Rachel Berry_?"

Rachel pauses, watching Tina's back as she shrugs.

Since this is obviously performance art for her benefit, she might as well get the best possible angle.

"I was curious-"

Kurt rolls his eyes and dramatically waves his hand.

"_Curiosity_ isn't a good enough excuse. You know how she jumps on the slightest bit of interest. Do you _want _her to start stalking you too?"

Rachel can't help the sudden gurgle of laughter in the back of her throat. Maybe before this would have hurt, but honestly it's just _so ridiculous_.

"Not tall enough," she says cheerfully as Tina turns in an almost comical rubberneck. "My obsession is reminiscent of an amusement park. You must be at _least _this high for me to stalk you."

She bites her tongue immediately afterwards, because they're both _looking _at her and she's trying to –slowly- transition her role.

Be cool, Rachel.

Be _nice_, Rachel.

The problem of course is that Rachel has _never _been cool and frankly, not caring has not increased her desire to actually be considerate of people who are, in her current unbiased opinion, horrible little gremlins.

She wonders, idly, if it has ever occurred to them that she doesn't go up to random strangers in the hallway and start discussing Broadway. That perhaps the fact that she was trying to initiate conversation and sharing her passion with them has implied that she thought better of them, or at least that they had more in common, than the 90% of their class who weren't going to leave Lima. Since that would require self-reflection, or not using her as a safe release valve for all of their tensions and difficulties, she suspects not.

She knows that she's not innocent in all this. But she's spent more than enough time cataloguing her own faults, trying to address them and then being shot down in flames at the slightest provocation. At this point, she is quite content to merely make sarcastic comments and watch the show.

She's almost eager to further expand Kurt's gaping mouth (it's like his jaw is as unhinged as his mind). But everyone else is arriving and she remembers her resolution to transition slowly. So she forces out her seldom used Bland Smile of Conformity and trails after the rest of the group into practice.

Santana's in front of her and Rachel can, rather against her will, hear her stage whisper to Brittany. "I thought that Cheerios had the auditorium today."

Brittany is staring at a strand of hair she's holding in her hand. "I dunno, Coach Sylvester's been kind of strange lately. Maybe she needs to see a psychopath."

Santana just smiles fondly, and runs a finger through Brittany's hair. "That's what her mirror is for, babe."

_And_ Rachel is just going to pretend she never heard any of that.

She focuses on her more pressing concern- how to not alert suspicions while still dealing with the fact that she's a little bit repulsed that she has to attend Glee twice a week when she doesn't have the desire to do anything for it anymore. Luckily, Mr. Schue, with a pointed look in her direction, says that they'll be doing the blocking for Tina's solo and the three leads on another number that had apparently been decided in the hour she missed on Thursday.

Holding tight to her Bland Smile, Rachel sits as far back in the audience as she can without looking like she is no longer paying attention. This is the perfect opportunity for her to work out some ideas of her own for her private lessons, but she wonders if it has occurred to Mr. Schue that in punishing her he's also leaving three-quarters of his group with nothing to do. Considering that she suspects that fully half the group is just lip-synching anyways, this isn't entirely new, but she no longer has the desire to actually do anything about it. In fact, the thought of Mr. Schue obliviously conducting a group of mute students brings a rather unholy grin to her face.

She's settled into her seat with her binder open, pointedly ignoring the looks being shot at her lack of protest (and if Puck's expression is somehow different from curiosity and wariness, she has no idea what his problem is), when Mr. Schue makes his second announcement. "Guys, before we take this from the top, I want to let you know that there will be some reshuffling of leads in our older songs as well. I got some news today that I'll share at the end of practice and it's going to mean a little shake up in what we're doing."

While Rachel would like to think that she is the center of her own story at least (unfortunately she has long had the horrible suspicion that she is a secondary character in 'Quinn Fabray- I Don't Need A Milkshake to Bring All the Boys to My Yard'), she really doesn't think that this particular announcement has anything to do with additionally punishing her. Mainly because there would be some thinly veiled parable about her actions if it were another punishment and she hasn't _done_ anything. Yet. That they know of.

Fortunately, Mr. Schue does seem to want to just move into practice and sets Tina up on the stage to run sound checks and blocking. Rachel is grateful to have the time to work out a potential set list to present her vocal instructor, but is a little concerned that every time she looks up momentarily, Mr. Schue appears to be watching _her_ rather than the stage.

She's not sure what his problem is. Tina's fine. Her voice is pretty, and, honestly, a little weak, but nothing that practicing some diaphragm work and learning not to always use her head voice wouldn't solve. She supposes that he might be expecting her to share this kind of insight, but not caring means not wanting to deal with the kind of life lesson she's sure he's just waiting to spring on her should she give him the slightest opening.

If Tina is pretty, but a bit mediocre, the Finn, Mercedes, Kurt trio is a _disaster._

Finn and Kurt do not blend well at the best of times and Mercedes' grace notes, without a backing group to cover the variations in modulation, are not doing the arrangement any favors. She can see that they realize that something is going wrong but none of them are willing to stop and work it out or recognize themselves what needs to be done.

The thing they have to realize is that when people are singing together, not everyone can be lead. A choral group has soloists but it also has blend and it's Mr. Schue's fault for attempting three soloists on a song that should at most have one. But they also aren't willing or able to work with the voices around them and are reacting to knowing that it is going wrong by singing louder.

Rachel knows that, even with these handicaps, they could do it- if she started them off.

It's not vanity or pride or even that she thinks she's more naturally talented than they are (although she suspects that she is). It's that she's had years of experience, lessons and competition and knows how to read, lead and perform. They've never been taught how to deal with various aspects of performance and that's partly Mr. Schue and partly their own decision that they don't want to take lessons or practice. It works when they can initially follow someone more experienced like herself, but when left to their own devices the problems become glaringly obvious. Flying by the seat of your pants is all well and good when you're competing against a reform school and a deaf choir with corrupt judges, but talent isn't enough, desire isn't enough, unless you're willing to put in the work. And you'd think that anyone who shared a school with the Cheerios or was _in _Cheerios would know that.

But it's not her problem.

Not anymore.

So with a mental shrug, she goes back to seeing where she can reduce the number of glottal attacks on some of the sections and transitions (she's aware that she's starting to use it as a crutch and that it is necessary to nip any affected vocal mannerisms in the bud). She can see that the rest of Glee is paying even less attention than she is. Santana and Brittany appear to be talking on their cells to one another, despite the fact that they are sitting next to one another. Quinn is alternating between scowling and a beatific Stepford wife face when anyone glances her way. She is drawing something that Rachel suspects will grace a bathroom wall sometime in the near future. Tina and Artie are doing that awkward and progressively louder flirting/not-flirting they do while playing with his wheelchair. She has no idea where Puck, Mike and Matt are.

Perhaps it is fortunate that the Kurt, Mercedes and Finn are so stubborn because Glee's time allotment is finished and Mr. Schue's hair is looking more disheveled rather than artfully disheveled by the time they stop. Rachel is selfishly grateful because it means that she is completely prepared for what she wishes to discuss at her voice lesson. She is just making some last minute notes when she gets a most unexpected interruption.

"So Rachel, we haven't heard your thoughts yet today. What did you think of that last number?"

Considering that they haven't heard _anyone's_ thoughts today, she isn't sure where Mr. Schue is going with this.

"Pretty," she says looking up to flash a quick smile. Actually it sounded like a drunken elephant attempting to mate with a peanut stand (her one and only trip to the zoo was _very_ traumatic) but she is sure that for someone who is tone-deaf, rhythmless and with a complete lack of knowledge of the original song that it was quite possibly pretty, so she's not _technically_ lying.

"Yeah, if you're a fucking walrus."

For one horrible moment, Rachel is sure that she is voicing her innermost thoughts out loud (she's had nightmares about this very problem during the time period she first discovered her hormones and her love of well-defined musculature). Then she realizes that the voice is coming from directly behind her (and when did Puck move and how did she not notice him sitting that close to her?) and that it was quiet enough that she was its only recipient.

"Seriously, how'd you say that with a straight face?"

_Matt's_ behind her too?

And _speaking_? In _Glee_?

She's trying desperately to maintain her Smile of Innocence (she has a horrible suspicion that it is far over-balanced into Manic) because Mr. Schue is still staring at her with a noticeable frown on his face.

"And what did you think of Tina's solo?"

Is this a trick question?

Rachel continues to smile as blankly as possible, but she's sure that her reply comes out a bit more questioning than she would have liked.

"Also pretty?"

She suspects her case is not helped by the sudden snort of laughter from behind her.

Mr. Schue's cold voice seems to concur with her suspicions.

"Why don't you explain what you mean by pretty?"

Rachel bites back her frustration. Honestly, they never wanted her opinions when she was eager to contribute and now that she's in the middle of sketching out transitions they decide to turn her every word into a crime procedural.

"Well Mr. Schue, I have never heard anything quite like it. I am sure that it will be lauded as a novel reinterpretation of a classic standard."

Mr. Schue is looking increasingly angry and Rachel suspects that it is not so much his dislike of her (she is not sure that he has ever really admitted that to himself) but that he feels that she is somehow mocking him (and she thinks that there is something horribly wrong that she and the Glee director have spent most of the year feeling and acting as if they were in competition with one another, other than her brief, disastrous crush).

The fact that he is taking her attempts to back away more personally than her attempts to participate puzzles her, but fortunately Finn interrupts something that appears to be about to take an unfortunate turn for the personal.

"We performed like a book? Is that a good thing?"

Rachel is _trying _to be honest. Why does the world continue to test her? But Finn isn't waiting for her answer (something that she has to admit happens quite frequently) and is striding towards her with a look that makes her increasingly uncomfortable.

"It's weird to not have to check under my bed for you anymore and I kind of don't like it because you're hot if you're not into boobs or having to listen. I was, like, planning to sing 'Jessie's Girl' but since he dumped you I guess I don't really have to work anymore. So I'll pick you up after Glee?"

He's got his 'aw shucks' smile, but his entire posture and presence speaks of the utmost confidence in what is about to happen. Rachel cocks her head, looking at Finn as if she's never seen him before. When she speaks her voice is full of the wonder of her revelation.

"You know... You're kind of a jerk. I think... I think that you get away with it because of your pleasant voice."

The idea excites her so much –has she finally discovered the key to Finn Hudson's mysterious powers?- that she starts outlining potential testing methods in her notebook. When she lifts her head after a few paragraphs, she realizes that perhaps that wasn't the best way to quietly transition her role in Glee.

Everyone's staring at her with varying degrees of shock, horror and... lust?

Rachel quickly looks away from Santana.

Besides, Mr. Schue looks as if his bowel movements aren't as regular as he would like. She's pretty sure that means she's about to get a lecture.

"Finn Hudson has shown extraordinary leadership skills and a remarkable talent since joining Glee. He certainly hasn't been anything but patient and understanding to Kurt or Tina or Artie or Mercedes or-"

Rachel frowns. "Maybe it's just to me then. That's unfortunate. I was looking forward to testing the effects of vocal modulation on random members of the public."

She sadly crosses out her list of Golden Age Hollywood starlets she had hoped to use as inspiration.

Unfortunately, Mr. Schue now looks like his digestion as well as his colon is affected.

"Finn represents the very best part of Glee and the best attitude towards the club and the rest of you. Rachel, you're being rude and overreacting. I don't see how you have anything to complain about and you need to apologize."

Well, that certainly lets her know where she stands. Before Rachel manages to think of anything in response, someone else beats her to the punch.

"Well, you're kind of a jerk to her too. That's probably why you don't see it, Mr. Schue!"

Brittany nods, obviously proud of herself for figuring this out.

Rachel thinks that this has the potential to go very, very badly, but, to her surprise, Mr. Schue actually pales and starts to mumble something about reconsidering set lists. Finn is still standing there looking confused and Rachel's hope that someone will take pity on him is answered when Mike appears out of nowhere and pulls Finn down beside him.

But it appears that more people than her have noticed Mr. Schue's moment of weakness. Mercedes, a little paler and more exhausted-looking than Rachel is used to, stops in front of him. "If we're looking for crazy opinions, what's your opinion, _Mr. Schue_, on the director of New Directions dating the director of Vocal Adrenaline?"

She's planned her moment well. Mr. Schue's eyes widen, and his voice swings up as he blurts out, "I'm not dating Shelby!"

Kurt's eyes flicker towards Finn before he glares with unusual anger at Rachel and Rachel realizes that she is beginning to understand _why_ he might always be so irrationally upset with her. "Hardly a convincing denial. But since the source was Miss Berry, it's probably a dramatic exaggeration anyways."

Mr. Schue looks oddly like he is facing down headlights and doesn't appear to be paying much attention. "I'm _not_ dating Shelby."

It's not that Rachel cares where Mr. Schue is hiding his non-kosher pork. It's just that Rachel can see the moment hanging in the balance, where if she fails the club will think that she is just being dramatic and assume that they can continue to treat her with the same lack of respect as always. And if Rachel is forced to sit through this at least long enough for them to attend Regionals, she refuses to be the subject of every other insulting comment. The idea that has formed in the back of her mind nearly takes her breath away. Rachel isn't entirely convinced that her theory about Finn is wrong and she thinks that this might be an excellent time to test it out.

After all, '_indirect methods will be needed to secure victory._'

So she makes sure that her voice is soft and even, her eyes wide and gentle when she speaks.

"You're right. You might not actually be dating. You might have just been using your tongue to investigate the presence of nodes on her tonsils. But-"

And Rachel shrugs delicately.

"They're in Cheerios and since Coach Sylvester hasn't gone more than thirty seconds without trying to destroy Glee, I'm pretty sure they have no room to throw stones."

She almost doesn't dare look, but when she attempts a modest glance from under her eyelashes, she finds her heart beating quicker.

Mr. Schue, Mercedes and Kurt look like they swallowed something sour, but everyone else _including_ Santana and Brittany, are nodding in agreement and sending appreciative glances her way. Except Puck, who is staring fixedly at her with an unreadable expression and Matt, who looks... guilty?

But that doesn't matter.

They _listened_.

They actually heard the special Rachel vocal range.

It takes every ounce of her ability _not_ to allow a look of scorn and disgust to reach her face.

So that's been it all along, or at least a big part of it. They can't handle assertion; they can't handle dominance expressed in voice or body language by a girl _not _aiming to be Head Cheerleader. Even though they have no value for her at all, merely changing her vocal tone and some clever word play was enough for them to side against the three people she has always, frankly, considered at _least_ as irritating as her. Well now she gets to decide what to do with that information.

As she thinks it over, she realizes that Mr. Schue is making some closing remarks.

"... and the announcement I wanted to save for the very end: Jesse's uncle came in today to finalize the paperwork for Jesse to move to Bali with his parents. Unfortunately, I didn't know about this earlier and it seems to have been a last-minute decision, so we're going to have to shuffle a few of the leads around to make up for his absence. I'm sure you're all-"

"We told you! Jesse St. James was obviously a spy for Vocal Adrenaline and now we have _proof_."

"It's all Rachel's fault!"

"Why would _anyone_ actually want to date Manhands?"

"What are we going to do if Vocal Adrenaline knows all about us? It'll be like Sectionals except that they're actually _good_."

To Rachel's surprise, Mr. Schue actually raises his voice.

"Enough! Jesse was in Bali as of this Saturday morning. I received a copy of his plane ticket as part of his paperwork. I doubt that he had the time between Thursday night and Saturday morning to teach Vocal Adrenaline all our moves."

"It's still a betrayal that he moved to Bali!"

Rachel knows that her voice sounds tired because she is. She's so tired of all of this. "Yes because Jesse's move to Bali is obviously part of some plot where Vocal Adrenaline is secretly part of an international Balinese furniture ring set to bring down New Directions. I mean it's _so obvious_ how this is a betrayal of you that I'm sure you'll be able to inform me how badly hurt you are other than having to shuffle a few leads. I mean it's not like I was the one who was oh, _actually dating him_."

There's a long moment of uncomfortable silence before Mr. Schue interjects weakly, "Well um, his uncle left something that Jesse wanted me to play for the group. I-I think that I'll do that now."

Sometime today Jesse managed to make his transfer official and make a recording, despite what happened this morning? Rachel feels an unexpected surge of warmth.

"This is for everyone except Rachel."

While the rest of the club snickers, Rachel is suddenly feeling a lot less charitable. Ah well, it's not like she cares what _any_ of them think of her anyways.

"I know that my absence is inopportune, because really, who could ever live up to my abilities? But I have no doubt that New Directions will rise to the occasion. You have a great depth of natural talent, creativity and an uncanny ability to pull full routines out of nothing at all."

"You're also all directionless bastards."

Okay, Rachel's charitableness meter is rising. Except that Jesse isn't finished.

"And Rachel? Sweetheart, you're going to be amazing. You _are _amazing. I'm so sorry, God, I'm sorry for what happened. I didn't want to break things off and I was a complete idiot. If there was any way I could think of to smuggle you out of there, I would have taken it. You _deserve _the stars. You deserve _everything_. You're-"

And his voice actually _breaks_.

"- the best thing that ever happened to me. _Illegitimi non carborundum_."

xXx

Rachel had never believed before.

She'd thought he was talented, both as a singer and an actor, but she had always been slightly humoring his ego and his declarations.

But he is, he is every bit as good as he's always claimed.

If she didn't _know_, she would think that every word was sincere.

"You bastard."

Someone's talking.

It takes Rachel a few seconds to realize that it's _her_.

And G-d, her mouth is still moving.

"You stupid _bastard_."

Why can't she _stop talking_?

Fortunately, Brittany's soft, puzzled voice pipes up.

"Um... doesn't he, like, really like you? I mean even if he's sort of gone away like Mr. Blue Fish and Mr. Red Fish and Mr. Boy/Girl Fish?"

Rachel doesn't have to fake the quiet, broken voice. In fact there's no thinking at all involved in her reply. "But _I'm still here_!"

She gets up. Glee is over. It's not really a dramatic exit if she's just leaving on time. She's not fleeing. Really.

She makes it halfway down the aisle before someone presses something into her hand.

"You might want... Perhaps you should hang onto this."

She sort of nods and fumbles the recording into her bag, trying to ignore what might be one of the first genuine looks of concern Mr. Schue has ever sent her way.

She's not sure when exactly she lost control of the situation but sometimes even the best generals need to beat a strategic retreat and regroup.

She's reached the door before someone says something and of course it's a way to put her back in her natural place.

"Well it wouldn't be Glee without a patented Rachel storm out."

As expected as the insult is, the quick sarcastic reply nearly sends her into paralytic shock.

"Yeah, I can't fucking imagine why the megadouche thought we were all bastards to her."

As Rachel quickly closes the door behind her, she doesn't know what terrifies her more- that Puck of all people defended her or that he knows what _Illegitimi non carborundum_ means.

Her eyes widen.

Why hadn't she seen it earlier?

She'll need Jesse, a chicken and a bucket of salt.

Obviously she is the only one who can give Puck the exorcism he so desperately needs.

xXx

"No Rachel, I _don't_ think that trapping Puck in a circle of salt is going to solve anything."

"Even if we get a chicken?"

"_Especially_ if we get a chicken."

"But how else can we make him less demonic?"

"Go back in time and castrate Papa Puckerman."

xXx

Jesse was leaning against her car when she burst out of McKinley. His unexpected presence nearly stopped her cold. The pain that she felt at knowing the depth of the lie she was living actually did bring her to a jarring halt. She had forced herself to take a deep breath, to _smile_. She could only hope that demonic vision wasn't such that he had been able to see the look of ashen shock on her face.

She knows she said something when she arrived. She isn't sure exactly what it was but since she seems to be in the middle of an argument about how effective chicken's blood would be in creating a demon-trap and performing an exorcism, it must have been something about Puck. And isn't that just the story of her life?

"So he's not possessed?"

"With abysmal taste in personal toilette? Yes. By a demon? No."

"Then why is he acting so strangely!"

Rachel doesn't understand the expression on Jesse's face but his voice is soft when he replies.

"When did he start seeming to act 'strangely'?"

So much has happened in such a short time that it takes a moment for Rachel to understand what Jesse is getting at. "Just after my wi-"

"Oh."

"..."

"So it's me then, not him?"

Jesse gives a very Gallic shrug. "It could be that your perception is different now that you no longer care. It could be that he is reacting to your different perception and _is_ acting differently. I can't say that I care to make a life study of a boy who thinks of his farts as musical accompaniment."

Rachel bites back the sudden suspicion that Jesse _knows_ something. If she doesn't trust him, at least a little, she is going to drive herself mad. It is the bitterest of bitter comforts, but nearly everything that he's done has been because she's asked him to do it and she has to hold onto that hope. It unfortunately doesn't stop her from voicing the pattern she is starting to see.

"It's not just Puck. I think that I'm being followed, Jesse. It's quite disconcerting to have a group of Freshmen shadowing my every move."

Jesse's eyes become impossibly large. "Already?"

Rachel can't believe she just heard that. "_What_?"

Rachel has never seen Jesse caught so off-guard. She can actually see the wheels turning in his head as the hamsters come to a screeching halt and quickly reverse direction.

"It's just that er... McKinley always seemed so immune to your natural animal magnetism."

Really?

_Really?_

_That_ was the best lie he could come up with?

Rachel tightens her grip on the steering wheel and tries very hard not to explode.

"I have the animal magnetism of a dead hamster! A zombie hamster with halitosis!"

Jesse has a very peculiar expression on his face. "You've... thought about this."

She grits her teeth. "I know my virtues. I also know my faults. How else could I expect to succeed? I've spent most of my time since hitting puberty recognizing that I appear to have negative personal appeal to the vast majority of people, despite not being physically unattractive and possessed of both intelligence and talent. I _accept_ that. If you must lie to me, at least make it somewhat within the realm of believability. I would prefer the truth. How much worse can it possibly be?"

Jesse smiles an enigmatic smile. "So did you enjoy my tape?"

Obviously Rachel should never play hardball with a demon.

She transitions into her brightest Smile of Unaffected Cheeriness. "You were brilliant! Your remorse over dumping me at a community theatre production and leaving for Bali was a master class in thespian technique. You're an amazing actor."

Jesse's just staring at her.

"Remorse over... Bali?"

Rachel wonders why his smile is so strained. "Yes well, I've always prided myself on my ability to believably win over an audience. You might say that sometimes I even fool myself."

Rachel wants to pry, to understand why it seems like her and Jesse have been having two different conversations the entire drive, but they're already on the outskirts of Dayton and she can see the Academy coming up at the next turnoff.

Jesse seems to realize where they are as well, because he suddenly gets an incredibly (cute) devilish grin. "Oh by the way, I have news- about both your teachers and your private lessons, but I think I'll save it for tomorrow."

That reminds Rachel of something that has been bothering her (and no, she is not going to talk about her obsessive hallucinations). "Is someone actually posing as your uncle?"

Jesse freezes and looks away from her, his shoulders so tight beneath his impossibly folded wings that she's afraid that they'll snap. "No. I possessed the school secretary and convinced her that she had seen my uncle come in and deal with the paperwork I had created."

There's something seriously wrong. Jesse's voice is flat, completely devoid of emotion, but there are fine tremors in his arms, in the set of his shoulders.

Making a split second decision, Rachel bypasses the Academy entirely and pulls into an empty parking lot.

The car's stopped and Jesse's still turned away from her, trying, as far as she can tell, to curl into himself and disappear.

Rachel's not good at this. She's no good at social situations, no good at comfort. And Jesse is so far removed from the somewhat understandable motivations of her peers that he might as well be an entirely alien species (which she supposes that he is). There's no guarantee that whatever she does won't make things far, far worse.

She reaches out a tentative hand, careful to keep some distance between her and his body.

"Can I... Can I help?"

"No."

Rachel should feel rejected, but there is no musical in her mind to play to today. There is her and a parking lot and Jesse (and if somewhere in her mind some alternate future plays out, it has no place here).

She pulls out her phone and dials, carefully not watching Jesse watching her out of the corner of his eye.

"Hi, it's Rachel Berry. I'm afraid that I started feeling miserable during my school glee club practice and won't be able to attend my lesson today."

"Yes, I understand that it is non-refundable on such short notice. I am very sorry for the inconvenience."

"Thank you. I'm sure that I will be able to make a full recovery quite quickly. My regime won't allow for anything else."

Without looking over at her passenger, she casually, carefully leans back against the driver's seat and closes her eyes.

It takes fifteen minutes as measured by the beating of her heart and that is a full ten minutes sooner than she had mentally expected.

Because apparently she was right- however else Jesse was acting, he couldn't hide his genuine pleasure in physical contact.

She doesn't allow herself to react at the tentative brush of fingers against hers. Instead, she slowly turns her palm towards him. His awkward entwining of their fingers is feather-light, unsure in a way she has never associated with Jesse. She forces herself to keep her breathing even, concentrating on the heat of his palm, his own slightly ragged breathing.

They sit and Rachel listens to them breathe accompanied by the beat of her heart. There's a music in this and she lets it play out, chorus and verse, until the curtain falls on the light of day.

xXx

It's pitch black by the time Rachel arrives home.

She's exhausted.

She's starting to be concerned that sitting in silence makes her more tired than verbal conflict with her various arch-nemeses.

Jesse hasn't spoken, but nor has he let go of her hand which involved some very creative one-handed maneuvering with the steering wheel (she's a defensive driver, _honestly_ she is).

This led to some additional problems when she received the call from her fathers while in midst drive. She'd had to answer while driving one-handed, since she couldn't very well explain why she was still in Dayton (_Honestly_, she _is _a defensive driver. It's not her fault that everyone else is as slow and uncreative in their driving as they are in their day-to-day lives.). She could swear that Jesse had momentarily broken his silence to mutter something like, '_Survived Gehenna_,' when she started steering with her knees, but she was distracted by the school bus from Special Flowers of Womanliness Academy that appeared out of nowhere (really!) so it's entirely possible that she was mistaken.

She, however is not mistaken in that while Jesse lets go of her hand once they reach the house, he is still not speaking. All the way through her production and serving of a quick stirfry, Rachel tries to think about what is bothering Jesse, and if there is anything she can do to somehow makes things better.

The more she thinks about it, the more her insides twist in self-recrimination.

Jesse has lost his human form, that he seems to have been attached to, is forced to spend most of his time in her company, and doesn't appear to have anything or anybody that he can call his own while on the job.

She may not understand what upset him in the first place, but she can at least attempt to provide him with a better working environment.

As a first step, she tries to give him a glass of water, but his blank look makes _her_ want to get a glass of water, so she decides to immediately proceed to the next stage of the plan.

When he follows her up to her room, she lifts a hand to stop him mid-room, twisting her fingers nervously as she launches into her speech.

"It has occurred to me that you are lacking in anything that you can designate as your own while you are forced to bear my company. I know that psychologically it is important to have your own space and possessions and since you seem to wish to remain in my room, we'll create a Jesse Space!"

Well, he doesn't look so... dead anymore.

And the height on his eyebrows means that he's exercising his facial muscles!

Rachel determinedly plows forward.

"Due to my extreme lack of appropriate socialization, I have very little idea what boys or even other girls enjoy, and no idea at all what demons like, but I have been making some associative guesswork based on my research into popular culture."

She reaches into her closet to pull out her boxes of things that are too precious to consign to the Rachel Berry Basement Retrospective. Smiling in triumph, she proudly presents the first item.

"This is a hand-carved chess set sent by Bubbe to Dad before I was born and before she discovered that Lara was actually Leroy and ceased all communication. Demons like strategy and games, right?"

Jesse's just staring. But then, then...

"Yes."

His voice is harsh, as if it hadn't been used for months instead of hours, but she thinks that it sounds wonderful. She refuses to let the overwhelming relief show on her face and instead grabs the next item.

"This was a gift from my first voice coach before she discovered that Daddy wasn't actually interested in her and asked me to change instructors."

She hesitates a little before handing it over. "I... I know that it's a little... used, but I found the complete works of Sondheim quite inspiring and frequently returned to it when I felt myself flagging in enthusiasm. I was forced to buy a new copy when I noticed that the binding was beginning to dissolve, but I believe that if you are careful, you should be able to gain many hours of enjoyment from its pages!"

He actually starts flipping through the pages and Rachel feels her heart beat a little faster.

"We'll work out which space would best meet your personal needs and allow you to feel self-actualized once you've had some time to reflect. I unfortunately do not have a wide range of other items to give you, although we can certainly purchase more, should you express your other needs. I do have one last item to start your Jesse Space though!"

With a triumphant flourish, she pulls out the best part of the Wiggles concert date, a tangible sign of the bond, fake or not, that she and Jesse share. Also, although she won't admit it, a companion on nights when she needed something to hold.

"May I present... Tenderheart!"

Okay, Jesse looks much, much less impressed. Rachel can feel her heart fall because she had hoped, that out of everyone she knows, _he_ would understand the power of a good metaphor. She bites back her need for another glass of water and tries to keep the tremble out of her voice as she continues.

"I know that you didn't understand why I specifically wanted _this_ bear when we were attempting to win him, but I hope that I will be able to convince you that he is the best possible companion!"

She can't quite look at Jesse when she speaks, but she puts as much enthusiasm into her voice as possible.

"He can be bossy and overbearing, but he knows what he wants and he gets things _done._ He _cares_ and the other Care Bears, even Grumpy, know that and are forced to respect him and listen to him and support him. He makes things better and gets up and does it all over again. He's a good leader and a good friend."

She glances up and-

"Tenderheart," Jesse says, but he's not looking at the bear.

He reaches out and his hands stay on hers as they jointly hold the bear.

"How could I possibly refuse that kind of companion?"

Rachel swallows, trying desperately not to read more into his words, his touch than actually exists.

"So do you have any ideas for where you want your Jesse Space to be?"

He smiles, and it's so unplanned and beautiful that it hurts.

"I think that it's becoming much clearer."

She wonders how he can possibly indicate the part of the room that he wants while he is staring at her face, but she's too raw to start asking questions she's not sure that she wants the answers to.

She feels fulfilled but drained. Delicate maneuvering is not a skill she has successfully mastered and she is sure that it is more luck than anything else that she was able to get through to Jesse. However, it is the sleep of the content that she falls into once she gets into bed, the press of Jesse and a Care Bear warm against her back.

xXx

Rachel's still tired in the morning and no longer content. In fact, she is more than a little on edge.

Somehow, in her concern for Jesse she had forgotten, well, her concern_ about _Jesse. She knows that she really doesn't have any right (just-a-wish-just-a-_wish_), but there's a low, resentful simmer of anger for both the previous morning's actions and the horrible, wonderful recording for Glee.

Then, just as she is forcing herself to not overreact, she glances at her floor and sees the still visible grooves from Jesse's _previous _escapade.

Looking behind her to see Jesse lying back on his arms, a grin of self-congratulation on his face, does nothing to ease her frustration.

With an amazing lack of his usual perception, Jesse launches into probably the worst speech he could have chosen.

"So, despite my amazing efficiency and underutilized skills as a an agent of perceptive reasoning, I still haven't gathered quite enough information on the trained monkeys who regurgitate trite sound bites for your classes. I had more important things to attend to-"

Rachel can't help herself- it's almost like her mouth has its own native control center (well, without the actual _control_ part).

"Like finding new ways to deceive or otherwise frighten me into giving you my soul, no doubt."

Rachel feels a certain bitter satisfaction at the, no doubt acted, flash of hurt on his face before it evens into a rather frightening neutrality.

"Well it's not like possessing one has afforded you any recognition or even one person who enjoys your company."

It's a direct hit.

Rachel is forced to suck in a great gasping breath of air.

Jesse's face immediately crumbles, but Rachel already _knows _how much that means. So his much softer, almost hesitant voice doesn't do anything but make her heart _hurt_.

"We bonded last night, didn't we? I have no idea what part of my exemplary behavior and supportive company has so upset you, but I need you to tell me what you need me to do to make this right."

He can't seriously be pretending to be that blind, can he?

But he's staring at her expectantly and _yes he can_ and she is _so angry _and she is going to do something that she'll regret if he doesn't just-

"Go away!"

"Fine," he says through gritted teeth.

And then he _goes_.

Rachel is, irrationally, even more upset. He should have known that she didn't mean it! Didn't they just last night stem the tide of malice and pour into the wounded bosoms of each other the balm of friendly consolation?

"Some fake friend _you _are," she mutters to herself as she makes the lonely drive to school.

It occurs to her briefly, and is just as quickly forgotten, that this is the first time since she started McKinley that she has _not_ come prepared with some fantasy theme to distract her from the real world.

Just as quickly pondered and forgotten is the thought that that might be because McKinley is now less depressing than her desperate, painful dreams.

As she enters the school, she wonders when it was that successfully finding a place as a Broadway star became a more realistic goal than successfully finding a place as a friend.

xXx

As if to make a further mockery of everything she's ever hoped for, Rachel discovers that not only have her stalkers not given up (there in fact appear to be _more_ of them), but that they have started to make rather disturbing changes to their appearances.

Several are now wearing knee socks (including the most persistent tiny Cheerio), another appears to have attempted to turn a leather jacket into a crude cardigan and one has pasted a cutout of a LOLcat on the front of her sweater. There are also mixtures of cardigans and sweater vests and skirts that have obviously been cut off at the bottom and Rachel isn't _stupid_.

She's not sure what it is that she's done that has prompted this new round of harassment, but she is Not. In. The. Mood.

Rachel realizes that she's basically a raw nerve when even her persistent tiny stalkers back up when she turns and glares at them.

(She is really trying to ignore the fact that one of them started fanning herself when she made eye contact instead.)

(She is, of course, all in favor of all forms of sexuality.)

(But honestly, tiny girls wearing short skirts and knee socks trying to crawl under the door of her bathroom stall sounds more like _Puck's_ fantasy than hers.)

(And seriously, she's starting to wonder if G-d isn't maybe getting their prayers confused.)

It becomes worse after every class (they keep getting closer and closer before darting away). Rachel realizes that, in this case, employing her exemplary avoidance techniques might be necessary if she doesn't want to start an incident that will undoubtedly make it difficult to perform in anything but a Prison Revue.

So she's angry, paranoid, and feels like her stomach is full of battery acid _before_ she sees Matt waiting for her at her locker at the beginning of lunch.

For one brief, shining moment she thinks that maybe he wants to apologize and they can be friends-

Then she realizes that she has no fantasyland today.

He's very obviously nervous and embarrassed by the people who seem to have gathered to watch him wait for her (she assumes that is why they have gathered, although it seems puzzling that so many people know where her locker is, but she supposes that the capital lettered TRANNY across it today might be a big clue).

He actually jumps when she pushes past him to attempt to open her locker and get her notes.

Unfortunately, he's blocking her way and his whispered greeting is nearly as sickly as his smile.

"People are watching," Rachel says flatly. "You don't want to be seen talking to me."

She raises her voice just enough so that the layer of people pretending not to listen can actually hear. "I'll get you the notes- just let me finish my color-coordinated highlighting of key points first."

She tries very, very hard _not _to let the resentment show on her face at his look of relief as most of their audience disperses at her announcement.

"BSU is supposed to meet Monday and Wednesday, so I'll see you after classes right?"

Rachel stares at him, trying to determine if he is performing an elaborate comedy routine or if his self-absorption makes her look like a Biblical martyr. Based on his expectant, hopeful expression, she is forced to conclude that he is unlikely to break out a rubber chicken. She doesn't grit her teeth when she replies, which she considers a victory of epic proportions.

"As novel as it is to be used for videogames rather than my voice, I think that I'll have to pass."

He has the absolute effrontery to look offended and mildly hurt.

"Hey! That's not cool. I mean, how do you know that I don't think that you're someone fun that I just want to spend some time with?"

"You seriously asked if I was planning on murdering your friends and family to more effectively stalk you. I think that's a pretty good indication."

He at least has the grace to look ashamed.

"Look- I know that I was way out of line. I kind of realized that from what I'd seen you're actually really cool, even if you're pretty intense, and it wasn't fair of me to believe shit Hud- other people wanted to say about you."

Rachel knows she should let it go. She _knows _this. She knows that she should smile and be grateful and lap up every scrap of attention he's willing to give her (strictly platonically, of course). She doesn't care what he thinks of her, so surely she should be willing to make a strategic acquaintance? But she can see him jump a little every time someone passes, the way he nervously scans the hallway and lowers his voice when it looks like someone might be paying attention. And something inside her snaps.

"This would be considerably more convincing if it weren't coming less than twenty-four hours after it was conclusively established that I am the one person Finn Hudson treats like dirt."

The momentary flash of guilt is more than enough to confirm her suspicions, even if it does nothing for the taste of acid in her mouth. Guilt quickly gives way to anger. Rachel _knows _that whatever comes out of his mouth is at least partly because of that, but it still doesn't stop that hollow swoop where the devastation would sit.

"Look- it's not like you haven't given the whole school enough reasons to think that you're over the top crazy. Man, I'm risking my whole reputation talking to you like this and you're all being the psycho-Berry that is the _reason_ no one likes you!"

"Funnily enough," and there is no actual humor in Rachel's smile, "I'm all out of apologies for being me."

Without waiting for any further insults, she spins on her heel and stalks off, not caring if she's missing a few notes. She knows that she was being curt (Kurt?), but the fact that that accusation is always lurking just below the surface, waiting to be tossed in her face, only further confirms her suspicions that McKinley itself is toxic to her.

When she sees yet another wave of Freshmen following her after having obviously eavesdropped on her conversation with Matt, she can't take it anymore.

She breaks into a run.

xXx

Because McKinley is quite possibly the most dysfunctional school that is not featured in a teenage drama on the CW, nobody appears to care that she is careening down the hallway like a drunken panda (she's seen the documentary).

Or at least nobody appears to care until she locates a custodial closet for a brief reprieve and discovers, to her most unpleasant surprise, that the firm pressure on her arm for the last half-hallway was attached to another body.

Now, thanks once again to Noah Puckerman's impeccable ability to make her life worse, no matter the situation, she is trapped in an open closet _with _Puck, unable to run while her stalkers have become emboldened into approaching her.

She doesn't think that she needs to explain why this is his fault (after all, he _must_ be aware that he is the reason that the school initially felt that she was a good target in the first place and he doesn't need to know about her conversation with Jacob about him, which she is sure prompted this escalation). But she does have a more pressing concern, particularly since he has the nerve to look surprised that she is blaming him.

"Never mind. I don't care that you are responsible. All I care about is that you somehow use some of the Puxtable or Puckibblet mojito and get us out of here before she tries to stare up my skirt again."

He's just _looking _at her.

She's really tired of people looking at her like that.

"You want me to use the _Puckster mojo_ to get you _out _of a janitor's closet."

Rachel pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration. Even if the girl briefly paused once she saw Puck, there is no time for this.

"I'm sure that you can work the process in reverse!"

His big lecherous grin is surprisingly reassuring. "Babe, have you ever come to the right badass."

Rachel does not say that he's never made her come for anything.

Rachel does _not_ say that he's never made her come for anything.

In fact, she's so busy not saying it that she practically has to leap on him to avert disaster.

"Don't make eye contact," she hisses, as she pulls his head down from the danger zone. "They _like _eye contact."

To her disgust, he actually looks interested.

"_Fuck _Berry... Can I watch?"

He dares to look _amused_ when she growls at him!

Then suddenly he's not amused.

"Look Berry, what the fuck is going on with you-"

Rachel steps back from him as if burnt, trying to rationalize that anger that has nothing to do with caring what he thinks about her and everything to do with people _pretending_ that they care about her, only to gut her as soon as things don't go their way.

"Don't you dare pretend to care _now_! Where were you when-"

For once, she manages to bite her tongue.

Suddenly, all of her avoidance seems stupid and pointless.

Without sparing him another glance she prepares to storm past the Freshmen staring with wide-eyed enthusiasm.

He really should have known better than to grab her arm.

"I know we're not sexting, but Mom would fucking kill me and feed Sarah my body if you're more fucked up than usual. C'mon, I'm trying to show a little em-pa-thy for a fellow Hot Jew."

Rachel's smile is as cold as her temper.

"Ten points for vocabulary. Unfortunately, showing empathy would mean that you would actually have to have a heart."

She regrets it as soon as it leaves her mouth.

She can't look at him, because she's not. She's _not _that person. She's always made sure her comments were professional rather than personal.

He's let go of her arm, so she leaves and the Freshmen part in front of her, giving her the kind of distance that she has been hoping for since the morning.

She knows she's wrong.

She knows she will have to apologize.

But all she can think about right now is surviving and she thinks that perhaps the universe owes her that much.

xXx

Somehow she gets through the rest of the day, _everyone_ now giving her a wide berth (she's amazed at how quickly the text trees seem to work). She has no niceties to spare when she climbs into her car and spots Jesse sitting in the passenger seat.

"Where were you?"

"Away," he says in a clipped tone.

And all her brittle shielding dissolves into nothing.

Rachel can't... She needs someone who isn't angry with her.

"Are you still mad at me?" she says, her voice far smaller than she would like.

Jesse laughs, and there's a certain wry exhaustion that Rachel can recognize and respect. "I'm afraid that it might actually be impossible to stay angry with you, m'dear. And-"

He has that rare look of self-honesty again. "For my part, I'm sorry. I think that neither of us came off well in that equation. If I am to continue in my uninterrupted belief in my own perfection, I think that it would be best to completely erase it from our history."

He still looks a little self-conscious, but before she can say anything, he does one of his lightning-quick mood shifts into a disturbing expression of enthusiasm.

"I never did get to tell you what I was actually working on yesterday. You'll be very pleased to know that I have managed to line up more dance lessons-"

"I need more dance lessons?"

Jesse just gives her a _look_.

"Your _echappés en pointe _aren't clean, you occasionally sickle in transition and your transitions in general need some work. Speaking frankly, without consistent practice your _pointe_ work is starting to resemble Bambi learning to walk. Ballet Club isn't sufficient, Rachel. You're not getting the kind of challenge and groundwork you need to expand your technique into theatrical dance."

It's true.

Rachel prides herself on her self-honesty, but she has allowed the drama of McKinley to allow her to become complacent about her far more important technical skills.

Jesse seems to take her silent self-castigation as hurt, because his voice softens and he reaches over to lightly cup her cheek.

"I won't lie to you, not about this. But you must be aware that the only reason I can even make these suggestions without active supernatural interference on my part is that you have the natural ability and discipline to accomplish this on your own. In fact, your natural ability is such, even in your lessons that are far below your ability, that it wasn't nearly as difficult as I had expected to get you into master classes with the very best instruction at the Academy."

Rachel immediately gets over her embarrassment as she realizes what this means.

"I thought that we were going to wait until the end of the week."

And then she _really _realizes what this means.

"Oh Tina, you've put me into the power of the Countess of Pain!"

Jesse smiles weakly. "Maybe?"

"She made someone perform 'The Dying Swan' in a hip cast!"

Jesse is starting to back away, but Rachel is just getting started.

"She's the world's only living heart donor! Twice! The second time _with someone else's heart_!"

"She hunted Nazis because their goose steps didn't have enough extension!"

"She's immortal and-"

"Wait... Is she immortal?"

"I can check."

Rachel is debating over whether it would be better or worse if the Countess of Pain (she doesn't even know if she _has_ a human name) is _actually_ supernatural, when Jesse sports another nervous smile.

"I suppose now is probably not a good time to tell you about my plans for your additional voice instruction and group work?"

"No," Rachel says shortly. "I don't think that my heart is supposed to stop beating more than once a day. And wait... How am I going to be financing these lessons? I am responsible for my own tuition from the account that my fathers set for me, but part of the reason that I had not attempted the higher level master classes last year was that our investments suffered during the financial crisis and much of my fathers' work is _pro bono_. We can afford last year's lessons but much beyond that is beyond our current financial means, if I don't want to touch my college fund."

"Well," Jesse smiling weakly is _not _a good sign. "I may have already solved that problem too?"

"You didn't find me a scholarship, did you?" Rachel says flatly.

Jesse uses a well-polished sheepish, probably-meant-to-be-charming grin. Unfortunately for him, Rachel already knows the only other option that the Academy has to finance students.

"You're going to make me teach."

"Yes."

"Children."

"Yes."

"Tiny, murderous children who wish to be triple threats by the time they are eleven and have never previously sang or danced for anything but abysmal home videos that get millions of hits on Youtube."

Jesse's eyes widen. "You're-"

"A little bit psychic. _And going to kill you_."

"Well look at that, we're already here!"

Rachel realizes that she's driven home rather than to Dayton for her lesson, but since Jesse appears to have rearranged her schedule, that is probably just as well since her whole body aches with the stress of the day and her current situation.

She wants to stay angry with him, but it is almost impossible when he arranges the asparagus to spell out "I'm sorry" while they are cooking supper.

In fact, she softens enough to allow him to help her with her English by putting on a (surprisingly nuanced) performance of Hamlet (who knew that penis puppetry could convey inherent schizophrenia so artistically?).

She gets a surprising amount of homework done by having him to discuss interpretation with and her mood improves dramatically until it becomes apparent that something is seriously wrong.

xXx

Two hours after the time that she should be in bed, Rachel finally gives up and goes to sit by the window, staring out at nothing in particular.

She's exhausted.

She can't sleep.

Her head feels like something prickly and painful is working its way through her system and every time she lies down, it feels like hot coals against her skin.

She doesn't know how long she sits there before she hears Jesse's voice, soft and rough.

"Rachel- it's after midnight."

She blinks.

"It's Thursday already?"

"Is something wrong?"

"I feel really strange. I'm so tired but I can't sleep. And my head feels like pins are running through it."

Even as she says it, Rachel can feel her vision swimming in and out of focus.

Suddenly, in the space of time it takes her to blink, Jesse is beside her. She can't really focus on his face, but his voice...

It's harsh and commanding and there is no trace of her pompous, soft-spoken fake friend.

"Focus on me!"

It's hard to focus.

Harder now.

Makes things hurt.

Don't want to hurt.

"How long have you been tired?"

Why are there two Jesses? They're funny. Jesses are always funny. They shouldn't frown like that though. Give 'em wrinkles.

"Week, maybe? So tired..."

"_Shit_! Shit, shit, _**shit**_!"

Jesse doesn't swear. These two Jesses aren't doing a very good impression of single Jesse. Maybe the more Jesses the less like Jesse?

_Ouch_.

Her head _hurts_.

Need to lie down...

Or fall.

That works too.

Good Jesses for catching her.

His voice sounds like he's underwater though.

Oohhhh...

It's nice and dark.

"Rachel! _**Rachel**_!"

Blink.

"C'mon sweetheart, I need you to drink this."

Blink.

"Please honey, open your mouth. _Please._"

Jesse...

Jesse wants her mouth open?

It seems to take hours, but Rachel feels her jaw slowly drop. Jesse gives a strange, shuddering sigh that ends on an almost-sob.

"Do you take this freely, of your own will and desire? Nod Rachel, _**please**__._"

Her head manages a single dip, almost without direction.

She can feel him lift her head and slowly pour something into her mouth.

It tastes like metal and fire and burns all the way down her throat-

It-hurts-it-hurts-please-please-make-it-stop

_Burning out through flesh and bone and boiling blood_

It-hurts-so-much-do-you-hate-me-is-that-why?

_Can't see, can't hear, can't think, can't breathe-_

xXx

She's warm.

No, her entire body feels as if she was the channel for some amazing source of heat that inhabited her and passed through as quickly as it came.

It takes a great deal of effort to become aware of her surroundings, to realize that the sensation against her hand isn't her imagination, but someone holding onto her as if their life depends on her touch.

"... Jesse?"

He rubs his thumb over the back of her hand when he speaks, so quiet that she can barely hear him.

"Are you feeling better?"

Rachel blinks, trying to move past the fog in her head.

"Was I not feeling well?"

The thumb rubbing becomes slightly harder, as if he is trying to burn a pattern into her skin.

"You were suffering from an odd combination of insomnia and exhaustion, but nothing a little enforced bed rest couldn't cure."

Rachel smiles, feeling the truth of his words in the lingering ache in her head and body. "I am sorry to have caused you so much trouble- you really do take excellent care of me."

She wonders why his breath catches briefly before he smiles back at her.

He shifts slightly and Rachel blinks, the movement making her haphazard vision catch sight of what she had earlier missed.

His horns are larger; no longer small points but clearly visible appendages. But they are only of minor interest compared to something that makes her mirror Jesse's caught breath.

There are dark marks etched into Jesse's back. Rachel can't really focus her eyes, but she thinks that they look like writing. Like what she sees on the Discovery Channel specials about the Dead Sea Scrolls.

"Did you give yourself a _tattoo_?"

Jesse's thumb stops its movement and he withdraws his hand altogether. Rachel, irrationally, misses the contact. He closes his eyes and takes a deep rasping breath before his lips turn up in a strangely sad smile.

"Well, tattoos will give me extra credibility should I attempt to roughen up my leading man image now won't they?"

Rachel frowns as she ponders this. "Well perhaps if you were interested more in film roles playing characters of misunderstood provenance, as I cannot see how the stage setting would effectively highlight-"

She breaks off as she suddenly catches a glimpse of the alarm clock.

"It's Thursday already?"

Jesse abruptly stands, turning away from her so that she gets a magnificent view of the intricate tattoo, nicely offset by his wings.

"I've got to go. I need to-"

He shakes his head.

"I've got to _go_."

He's walking stiffly, quickly towards the door. He doesn't seemed to be focused on anything except leaving, to the extent that he seems to have forgotten that he can walk through walls and vanish on command.

Rachel is puzzled and more than a little frightened. He pauses for a second, halfway out the opened door, and she thinks she may have a chance to stop this, to understand what is happening.

"Jesse-"

And the door closes.

xXx

**Some Miscellaneous End Notes**:

I was the Brad for several years for a nationally competitive high school pop choir, as well as competing with some nationally competitive musical ensembles. I am trying very hard not to let this spill over too much into what I'm writing here. If I am getting too technical without enough explanation or if it is starting to seem too "choir procedural" please let me know.

Trivia Note of the Week: since Rachel is apparently a pepperoni pizza vegan, I feel no guilt whatsoever about ignoring this development. I am also ignoring the recent age changes (which directly contradict Rachel's earlier lines anyways) because I really like her being able to drive. So she gets to stay sixteen in my universe :)

On a housekeeping front if there is anyone out there who is willing to Glee pick (i.e. fact check) or just let me ask them Glee trivia questions, please PM me. I missed a couple of the earlier episodes and have been unable to find transcripts to make sure I'm getting the picky details right. Yes, I know that caring about canon in a story involving turning characters into invisible demons is probably silly, but that's the way I roll :)

_Updated June 11, 2010_


End file.
